


Something is Wrong

by LoveAlltheSherlocks



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Diagnosis, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hallucinations, Health problems, Martin Whump, Mental Health Issues, Seizures, Serious Illness, Treatment and recovery, but i'm focusing on finishing the story first before i proofread it again so sorry!, but no actual smut, hospitilization, martin crieff is too proud to ask for help, no theresa in this one, sexual refences, the beginning chapters are still being edited, this is also pretty much an au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 43,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveAlltheSherlocks/pseuds/LoveAlltheSherlocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas knew there was something wrong with Martin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Captain's Nap

Martin had already been sitting in the “Captain’s” chair when Douglas arrived, but that was not surprising at all. Martin was usually early, especially when they were actually flying somewhere and not just meeting clients or going over the ruddy flight logs. Still, the cockpit had a different…air around it this morning. Martin was hunched over the logbook in his lap, pen in hand. But he wasn’t writing anything. Douglas remembered his tea, compliments of Arthur of course, in the kitchen area and grabbed it. Then Douglas noticed something else. Even Arthur wasn’t preparing for the flight yet. He was nowhere to be seen, in fact. And Carolyn was usually telling them to pick up the pace and get the take-off checklist moving by now. What the hell was going on anyway?

He headed back to the cockpit. He slid the door open and sat down in his first officer’s chair, slightly flattened out by the constant pressure of people sitting in it. Taking one, then two sips of tea he wondered if he remembered everything for the trip. It was going to be a long one, 2 weeks in Marseille and then a short weekend trip to Chicago, followed by Miami. This is what Douglas was looking forward to the most. Warm, sunny Miami. No one had scheduled any trips with MJN after that for a whole month, so Douglas was sure that if Carolyn convinced everyone to find their own accommodations they could at least stay for a week before an unexpected booking came in. But by then Douglas will have gotten a slight tan but no burn, and everyone might be relaxed some. Even Martin. Speaking of Martin…

Douglas turned to his left. Martin was still hunched over and it took a moment for him to realize he was in a very unnatural position. He must have fallen asleep. He did that on the last flight, too. Actually, the number of times Martin had been falling asleep – or at least dozing- on accident before, during, or after a flight had been getting higher lately. Douglas could have sworn that Martin had been looking pretty exhausted in the past few months. And as a result he was always asking if anyone had Tylenol because he had a headache. And it wasn’t just headaches either, Douglas realized. Martin’s back, his legs, his neck…sometimes Martin just mumbled something about his bones hurting and he just wanted to get home and sleep.

Douglas tapped Martin on the shoulder a few times. “Sir, I do believe in order for us to fly a plane our supreme commander must be awake.”

Martin didn’t rouse. Douglas turned his chair slightly and kicked the bottom of Martin’s with just enough force to make it jump a little.

Nothing. Martin’s head just lolled to the side away from Douglas and his hand rolled off of his notebook. The pen falling to the floor seemed to make a much louder noise than usually noticed.

Douglas got up from his chair and knelt in front of Martin’s. A bit of a tight squeeze between the chair and the control board but that didn’t matter. Douglas heard Arthur’s cheery voice faintly outside, and then Carolyn’s sharp one after. Douglas hit Martin’s leg, then his other one, even shook the chair-anything would have worked to get Martin up. But maybe he wasn’t sleeping. Maybe he was-

Martin sucked in a short breath and opened his eyes wide. He looked around for a moment and then noticed Douglas. “What…” his voice was quiet, unstable.

“Were you sleeping?” Douglas asked, also quietly. The remaining MJN employees would be on the plane soon. Martin didn’t respond, he just kept looking around and holding his fingers to his head for a moment. Another headache, maybe. He cleared his through and sat up straight. Douglas stood as well. “No, I…erm…yes. Must’ve dozed I guess. Sorry.”

“I am so happy that you could take a nap, _Captain,_ but unfortunately our take-off checklist isn’t complete and Carolyn and Arthur are almost here.” He kept looking at Martin’s face. His eyes had dark circles around them, more noticeable now. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, too. “Maybe you’d like to tell Carolyn we should cancel our trip, and then you can sleep all you want?”

Douglas wasn’t speaking with an attitude, but of course Martin took his statement as an insult and stood up quickly. “No! I have been waiting to go to Miami for-“and then he fell back into the chair, eyes fluttering, hands holding his head. Douglas grabbed his shoulders to keep him steady. Martin looked up. “Look, Douglas, as much as I know you’d grab any opportunity to switch places with me and pilot this flight, I will not allow it. I have a headache is all. I haven’t had my tea yet.” He brushed Douglas’ hands away and stood up (slowly this time.) He walked past Douglas, pushing him out of the way slightly and into the cabin.

Douglas sat down in his chair. “Well then,” he muttered to himself as he took another sip of his own tea. It was almost cool now. He drank it all in 3 gulps and waited for Martin’s return. Surely the take-off checklist would be done within five minutes. Too short to get up and do something, too long to just sit. So he sat and he waited.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Martin looked-his eyes, his face-dark and sunken skin. He was too tired, that was for sure. Probably from his other job. It’s tough work, being a man with a van. Moving things and fixing lights, all hours of the day. But Douglas couldn’t shake the thought of Martin falling backwards into the chair. He hadn’t been spinning around which would be a perfect explanation for the inner-ear balance problem.  But if you were exhausted enough, you could get dizzy too. That was it then. He was just simply…tired.

But the bad feeling didn’t go away. Not even when Martin came back with in his normal mood, eager to fly following all rules and regulations of being a proper pilot. “Alright then! Take-off checklist complete, Douglas. Carolyn and Arthur are settling in now. Then we are off on our flight. How long…” he searched through his notebook-

“Eight or Nine hours, I’d say.” Douglas interrupted. “Depending on whenever we bloody leave.”

“Eight or nine…what?” Martin looked at his book for a second time, not understanding what Douglas said. “To get to France? Surely, Douglas, it doesn’t- Don’t joke with me, I am not in the mood.”

“Dear Sir, if I was joking there would be a long list of perfectly adequate insults and witty comments to throw at you much better than this one. It is not a joke. It will take us at least 8 hour to get to the states. Why on Earth did you say France?”

Martin squinted his eyes together and studied Douglas’ face. He really was serious…the states? Then he remembered. Marseilles. Illinois. Most definitely not France. He had made a mistake. He never made silly ones like that but today he did. How stupid was he? What kind of a pilot-

Douglas noticed the realization in Martin’s eyes and laughed at him. “Come on now, Martin. France? We have been talking about this trip for a month. I told you to pack warm clothes; it gets very cold in the Midwest states. I do hope you brought a coat with you.” He leaned back into the chair and had a quick laugh again “Ha! France.”

Martin had had enough. He slammed the notebook down on the little counter beside  him, startling Douglas. Martin stood up. “Shut up, Douglas! I said I wasn’t in the mood and I’m not. I could really go without your jokes for one damned flight.”

“Martin, I wasn’t-“ Douglas sat up and looked at Martin’s face. But Martin stopped him again. “No! You were too, you were. I know it. Like always Douglas. First Officer comedian 24/7, never serious, always good for a laugh. Well I’m done. I won’t have it.” He stormed out of the room, tossing his captain’s hat on the chair before he left.

Douglas knew what happens next. Carolyn would storm in, demanding to know what happened, Douglas would explain but wouldn’t be believed, etc, etc. they just go already?

A few moments passed. Douglas thought about why Martin would slip out like that, suddenly with no warning. He never did that. You always had a buildup of anger with Martin, and you always knew when to back off and get a little bit of wiggle room before Martin blew his gasket. He never just exploded like that, even at Douglas. And it was not like Douglas actually used bad jokes on him. Just a comment or two.

Arthur popped his head in the doorway. “Morning, Douglas!”

“Cheery as ever, Arthur.”

“Well, no sense not being cheery on a day like this! What’s up with Skip? His face was awful red…”

“Nothing, Arthur, just get some more tea or coffee on and get your mother.”

“Alright! Mum!”

Carolyn pops in next. “I do not even want to know, Douglas. Sort it out yourself, it looks like you caused it anyway.” Douglas stops her. “Wait.” She shuts the door. “What’s wrong with him?”

Carolyn looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Have you not been paying attention? He’s tired, he’s moody, he’s always in pain…I could swear he passed out in this chair just 20 minutes ago. And not he’s flipping out on me for no good reason.”

“I hardly believe that one, Douglas, but I agree he’s been a bit odd lately. We did fly a great deal in the summer, maybe it was a bit much for him and that other job he’s got. No matter then, we’ve got a nice relaxing time in Miami ahead of us. He can relax and he’ll be in tip-top shape for the Burling trip.”

“Carolyn, I-“

“I won’t hear any more, Douglas. Our client is here and we really must be going soon. Get Martin out of whatever funk he’s in so he can fly us to the States.” She walks out, leaving Douglas with his mouth hanging open.

***

*knock knock knock* Douglas raps on the door or the toilet, sure that Martin is in there.

“Just go get the plane started, Douglas; I’ll be out in a minute.” His voice is quiet and shaky, but he seems in a decent mood. Douglas puts everything in order, makes the announcement to the passenger, and wait for Martin, who comes into the cockpit after a moment. He looks like he’s about to fall over and he may or may not have been crying a bit.

He sits down in silence and begins the take-off process. Douglas says nothing but keeps looking out of the corner of his eyes at Martin’s face. It’s determined but his eyes aren’t focusing as well. Not as if he’d crash a plane or anything, but definitely not in tip-top shape.

Finally the plane is in autopilot and Martin and Douglas have both relaxed in their chairs. Silence has filled the room completely but just as Douglas opens his mouth Martin starts talking.

“I’m sorry, Douglas.”

Douglas looks at him in surprise. “Oh?”

“I know you weren’t being particularly rude to me. It was my mistake; I don’t know why…anyway, I apologize. I don’t know why I yelled like that. I’m not usually like that, you know…and I thought it was France, but it wasn’t, and maybe I should have checked and your sarcasm out me off and I still haven’t had my tea and-“

“Shut up, Martin. I don’t care. You’re just tired.” He hands him his notebook which slid on the floor during take-off.

“Am not.” Martin grabs the book and tucks it into the drawer.

“Alright then. Whatever you say… _Sir._ ”

Martin smiles and leans his head all the way back. Within minutes, he’s snoring slightly and his hand is twitching. Douglas goes to wake him, but then he realized that 20 minutes with only one pilot isn’t ALL that big of a deal on an 8-hour flight. So he watches the sky and listens to Martins rhythmic snoring and the echo of Arthur’s cheerfulness at their guest.

He still couldn’t shake that bad feeling, though. Something felt wrong.


	2. Good Weather, Bad Feeling

Martin felt oddly relaxed when he woke up. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, and then realized he wasn’t lying down in a bed. He was sitting. His eyes opened slowly, and after seeing the clouds being parted by the plane he was in, he sat up immediately. Which made his back hurt. Did Douglas notice he had fallen asleep? He glanced out of the corner or his eyes to see that Douglas was looking down at his logbook. Martin shifted himself slowly to a natural position and looked at his watch. 4 more hours to go. Wait.

He’d been asleep for almost 5 hours.

He wasn’t even tired this morning. Not as much as he was yesterday, anyway. And his headache was lesser than yesterday too. But just as he thought of that, he felt the nagging pain again. The one right in the middle of his forehead and the middle of the back of his head and…well, everywhere.  He searched in his pocket for some Tylenol, Advil…anything that would get rid of the pain for the rest of the flight.

Douglas didn’t look up from his book but said, “Carolyn’s got a bottle somewhere. Arthur might know.”

Martin stopped and looked at him for a moment. No sarcastic comments about sleeping…yet.

As if right on cue, Douglas looked up from the book and met eyes with Martin. “Of course, you could go see about it rather than sitting there. As much as I love flying myself, Carolyn would have a fit if she knew you were… _resting_ all this time.”

Ah, there it was. Martin said nothing. He took off his seat belt and murmured something even he couldn’t really understand, and slid out into the hallway.

Arthur was standing in the hall on the other end, just before the door to the passenger cabin. “Skip!” He exclaimed. “How are you?”

“Just fine, Arthur, where is Carolyn?” Martin held the back of his neck in one hand and took a breath.

“Uhh…well, dunno. Probably serving the food? She wouldn’t let me touch it after last time…your face’s gone all funny, Skip! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, what do you mean my face?” Martin scrunched his eyebrows. If anything felt funny, it was his head, and definitely not his face.

“Well, it’s just…your eyes look sorta glassy. And your eyelid’s twitching a lot.” Arthur reached his finger up to Martin’s eye. Martin slapped it away.

“Stop that! Really, Arthur, I need Carolyn. Tell her I need some Tylenol.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Arthur immediately sprang back to life. “OH! Mum said you might need it so she gave me a bottle to hold for you.” He grinned very proudly.

“Alright, then, hand it over.” Arthur did. Martin unscrewed the bottle and poured out 6 pills into his hand. He gave the bottle back. Arthur look confused.

“Err, Skip…I don’t think you’re supposed to take that many. It says 4 on the label…” He looks at the bottle to point out where exactly it says that.

“Never mind, Arthur, Just please go get me some water or something. And tea in a bit.” He turns away and heads to the cockpit door.

“Sure, Skip!”

***

Douglas now had his logbook closed in his lap. He looked up at Martin. “Find some?”

“Arthur had it. He’s bringing tea.” Martin sat down, pills in his hand. It felt warm where they were…like M&Ms condensating but not melting yet. “How long?”

Doulas looked at his watch. “Four hours, I’d say. Good weather.” Just then Arthur walks in, trying to balance 2 cups of tea and a water bottle in his hands.

“Tea and Water! Here you go.” He lets Douglas take one of the cups and Martin take the other, and then hands him the bottle of water. Martin twists to hear the crack of the lid opening “Thank you, Arthur.”

“No problem, Skip! Hey, can I-“

“No.” It was both Douglas and Martin speaking. Letting Arthur be in the cockpit for more than five minutes was definitely a bad idea.

“Oh, alright then. See you later!”

Douglas chuckled to himself. “I say, that boy needs something to do on these long flights. Carolyn ought to buy him a Mad Libs-Uhh, Martin…” He notices Martin tossing a small pile of the white pills in his mouth and taking a swig of water after. “I’m sure that was more than enough.”

Martin take another sip of the water and twists the cap on before tossing it in the glove box on his left. “Oh, Douglas, please.”

Douglas takes a sip of his tea. “I’m serious, Martin, overdosing on those is not pleasant.”

“Douglas, it’s just Tylenol. No harm done.” He takes a sip of his tea too.

“Seriously, Martin. They don’t kill you but nasty hallucinations are sure to ensue. Believe me.”

Martin huffed.”Oh, I’m sure you know that because you’ve been there?”

“Of course I have.”

“Right.” Martin sipped his tea, set it on the counter next to him. He closed his eyes and put his head back for a minute. He thought about Marseille, Illinois. Probably a lot of farms there, right? Animals? Chicago would probably be more fun. His stomach made a noise. A small one, but it alerted him to sit up very quickly. He heard it again.

Douglas looked at him. “What?”

Martin didn’t respond. He didn’t even move, not an inch. He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. What was it? He heard it again. But the noise wasn’t really a noise, per se, but a feeling. He felt it.

All of a sudden, he felt sick. Let it pass, he thought, you’ve only had some tea. And that was exactly it, he’d only had tea. What about yesterday? He tried to remember back to the night before, him coming home, toeing off his shoes. All he wanted was sleep. He never ate. What about…no, he didn’t eat in the afternoon either. He had buttered toast in the morning, but that was early. He thought of the butter on the toast, he spilled some on his uniform pants and was irritated because he was already late.

Then, it came. It was a wave of the feeling; it took his whole body hostage. He jumped up, spilling the tea on the counter and knocking his own log book down into the liquid. Douglas also jumped up. “What? Martin-“

Martin pushed past him and through the door. Into the loo. He shut the door behind him. Before he could kneel on the ground or even lean over, his entire body involuntarily lurched itself over at the wait and he dry heaved. Nothing happened. His body did it again, throwing Martin over the toilet. Nothing. Again and again, the dry heaves came. And finally, whatever it was forced itself out.

It was just…bile. Bile and Tylenol. The pills hadn’t even dissolved all that much yet. Martin’s body stopped and all he could do was look. It was revolting. It didn’t even look…normal, as normal as bile looked. He thought for a second that blood must have made its way in somehow, for the pinkish hue. He couldn’t think anymore. His head tilted, feeling heavy. He shut the toilet lid down and sat on it, reaching behind to flush. He leaned over so his head touched the counter.

He should have eaten. He was so stupid; of course he’d get sick. But last night he just wanted to sleep, he wasn’t even hungry. And this morning, well, he wasn’t thinking. He had to iron his uniform, and the warm water of the shower felt unusually good this morning. Martin sighed and closed his eyes.

*knock knock knock* “Martin.” It was Carolyn. Martin glanced over at the door; there were 2 sets of shadowed feet under the edge. Arthur, too.

“I’ll be out in a minute, Carolyn.” The shadowed feet waited a moment, then headed right, to the cockpit.

Martin stood up slowly. His head felt heavy but not too badly. He washed his hands and splashed some water to his face. It felt refreshing. He was much too warm now. He might have a fever. Standing up straight, he looked into the mirror.

He took a sharp breath. The face in the mirror wasn’t him, it couldn’t be. His eyes looked red and the eye sockets seemed deeper than before. His cheeks were sunken too, in a way. His face…his whole face looked tired. Like he felt. Exhausted.

Martin splashed himself with water again. I just need more sleep, he told himself. It’s  been a long summer and Carolyn has booked one too many flights. Not that he could complain, of course. Carolyn needed debts to be paid and Martin’s salary was not one of them. And Douglas would just say he was a baby, work through it, blah blah blah.

Just four more hours, he though. Three and a half, really. Then he could sleep again. That’s all he wanted to do, was sleep. All the time.


	3. Yellow Plane

Carolyn didn’t even let Martin sit down before pestering him. “Martin, pleeeease tell us what on Earth is going on.”

Martin sat in the chair and shook his head. “Nothing, Carolyn, it’s probably just the flu.” He remembered his tea, the tea he spilled. But nothing was under the chair. They had already cleaned it up.

“Oh, well I’m glad there’s only a few hours left then. The last thing I need is to be stuck with a germfest like you in this small plane.” She started to walk out the cockpit, ignoring Douglas’ stare. Martin shook his head after realizing what she said “Caro-“

“Oh hush, boy, and fly the plane. Then you can rest and I’ll give you a whole bottle of Tylenol.”

Martin couldn’t argue to that. Tylenol wasn’t expensive but it was to him. He flipped a few buttons and looked at his watch.

Douglas took a deep breath. “Well I’d love to stay and chat, but I need a refresher.” He stood up and walked through the door. Martin ignored him.

Douglas went to the kitchen to find Carolyn. She was pouring some water into a cup for tea. “Carolyn…” He said slowly. “I May be wrong, but I think that is not what we said we would do.” He had his finger pointed up, shaking it like a professor would.

“Well what did you expect me to say? You think I’m not worried as well? It probably is just the flu. I told you that.”

Douglas snapped his head to face her. “You most certainly did not.”

“Well I said basically the same thing. He needs sleep. It was a long summer. Florida will be good to him, and maybe he can cover that pale skin with a decent tan.” She dunked her teabag a few more times before using the spoon to get every last ounce of tea into the water. “Here,” She handed Douglas the cup. Make sure he drinks this, all of it, and-“she grabbed a few biscuits and tossed them into Douglas’ other hand, “make sure he eats too.” Starving certainly won’t solve his problems, and will only make mine worse. I need a plane and crew to run MJN Air, and you ought to know that crashing will surely make that impossible.”

Arthur popped right into the conversation (gracefully, as usually) “”Ello, Douglas! Need any help?”

“I’m sure I can manage Arthur, just open the door if you will.” Arthur helped him into the cockpit. And of course, tried to stay. “Please, just for a bit? We can play yellow car! Or charades!”

Douglas didn’t even skip a beat. “As tempting as it is to play yellow car in the air, Arthur-“but Martin interrupted him.

“Fine, Arthur, you can stay. For five minutes. Then you have to go.” He took a small bit of the biscuit he was holding. Then another. But on the third nibble (albeit a small one) he started to choke on it for just a split second. He coughed for a minute, crumbling the biscuit a little and finally giving up on eating it for a while. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

Arthur, sitting on the floor in front of the door, looked concerned. “Skip, you have to eat that or Mum will be mad.”

Martin looked at him. “You all are ridiculous. I’m not hungry. I’m likely to just get sick again anyway.” He took a drink of the tea.

Douglas cleared his throat. “Arthur, time’s up! Get out.”

“Aww, come on, Doug-“

“Out, Arthur.”  See you after the landing.” Douglas looks over at Martin. He is staring out of the window in front of him, eyes blank. His breaths are short and quick, judging by the movement of his chest. Douglas isn’t sure what to say.

“Martin-“And then Martin jumps in his chair and looks back at him. His eyes wide, he just stares. “What?”

Douglas squints for a second. “What? I didn’t even yell at you.”

Martin blinks a few times and settles back into the chair, looking out at the clouds again. After a moment, he says quietly,”My ears hurt.”

Douglas nods to himself. “Infection, maybe.”

“Mmm.” Martin doesn’t look away from the sky. He tightens his teeth on a fingernail.

“A doctor might be in order, Martin.” Douglas looks down at the knee of his uniform pants. They’re a bit worn.

“Silly. Just a flu.” Martin still doesn’t look away. Douglas turns to him. “Chicago,” he says.

Martin huffs. “Fitton. American doctors, huh!”

“Fine, Florida.”

“No.”

“Martin-“

“NO!” Martin hits his hand on the arm of the chair. Then he grabs in and winces in pain. Rubbing it with his other hand, he continues, “Just shut up.”

“Fine.” Douglas looks back at his own side of the window.

The line that usually divides them, separates them, was faded. But now it felt stronger. Martin flipped 2 switches and a button, Douglas turned his light on.

Silence again. Until Martin started coughing.


	4. Shower Before Swimming

“I do believe Florida will be my favorite place travelled so far.” Douglas tossed his carry-on bag onto the bed. Martin did the same and opened the curtains to view the pool.

“It is very nice.” He replied quietly. He looked at the blue water of the pool. “I’m surprised she let us stay here.”

“Carolyn knows how to vacation as well as anyone. She’s probably saved up for it, and anyhow, we are paying for our own rooms.” Douglas started to take a few items out of the bag and set it on his nightstand- his phone, charger, and some vitamins.

Martin squinted for a second and whipped around.”What?”

“Oh, come on, Martin, you didn’t really think she’s pay for our room, did you? Not at a nice hotel such as this one. I told her if I paid for our room, she would have to pay for hers and Arthur’s. Luckily she agreed, and here we are.”

Martin looked down at his side of the bed and sat on the edge. He cleared his throat. “Well, uh…thank you. I didn’t know, or I would have-“

“What, stayed elsewhere? Nonsense. I’m still only paying for one room, and unfortunately we have shared a bed before. Now we are in luxury for the time being. Don’t over think it.” Douglas headed toward the bathroom. “Now. I think a swim in the pool is in order. Why don’t you knock next door and tell them to meet us out by the pool in 15 minutes. I always shower before swimming.”

Martin didn’t respond, but got up from the bed and went to the door. Next thing he knew, he landed face-first on the floor in the small hall to the hotel room door.

Douglas heard the thud and opened the door to see Martin on the floor. He was slowly moving to get up, rubbing his eye with his right hand. Douglas grabbed his arm and helped him up, only to get a small slap on his own arm. “I just tripped, Douglas. Really” He brushed off the arms of his uniform jacket, then took it off and hung it up in the closet.

Douglas didn’t say anything. Martin headed to the door and grabbed his keycard. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Yes.” But he heard the door slam before he finished the word.

***

“Skip! You’re right next door, that’s brilliant!” Arthur was holding one of the hotel robed in his hand.

Martin loosened his tie a bit. “Yes, it is, Arthur. What’s Carolyn doing?”

“What do you want, Martin?” Carolyn yelled from the bathroom.

Arthur whispered, “She’s taking a shower before she goes into the pool, she says. But that doesn’t make any sense, does it, Skip? She’s getting into the water anyway!”

Martin chuckled. He took showers before he entered the pool too, just because he liked to wash everything away before he stepped into cool water. It seemed silly though, now. He decided he’d take a risk today. After all, it is a vacation. The pool can wash it all away. Whatever “it” is.

“Douglas wants to swim too.” He said to Arthur. Arthur grinned even more, if that was possible.

“Brilliant! I’ll tell Mum. Are you swimming too, Skip?”

“Yes, Arthur. We’ll be ready in fifteen minutes. Whoever gets there first can pick which chairs to hold.

Arthur nearly squealed. “Brilliant!”

Martin’s keycard took 3 times to work, just his luck. He hoped it worked fine the rest of the stay. He always seemed to have bad keycards, valet cards, or anything else you basically need.

Douglas was still in the shower. Martin walked to the bed and pulled his suitcase on it. He fingered through the perfectly folded and organized piled of clothes. His gold-trimmed navy blue swim trunks were at the bottom of the pile in the bottom right corner. He smiled when he pulled them out, admiring the colors. He remembered how excited he was when he saw them at the thrift shop; they fit perfectly and were almost free. He did quite a bit of washing to feel happy about its condition, but he didn’t care. They looked perfect.

He went to the top left corner of the suitcase’s piles and pulled out a white t-shirt. Just then, Douglas steps out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel on his head. His swim trunks are blue, too, with orange Hawaiian-style flowers on them. His blue t-shirt was wrinkled and he had a bit of sunscreen on his nose.

“Arthur says they were swimming anyway.” Martin picked his clothes up and slipped his shoes off. He set them neatly together, at the foot of the bed. “I’m going to change and I’ll be right out.”

“I’m going to beat Arthur to some good chairs. I won’t have any teenagers bothering my relaxation time again. Will you bring your keycard?”

“Sure,” Martin speaks through the bathroom door.

***

Martin arrived at the chairs so obviously marked with Arthur’s Rubber Duck decorated towel. He sat down in the only empty one, between Douglas and Arthur’s. Carolyn sat on the other side of Arthur’s chair.

“Really, Martin? The aviators?” Douglas raised his eyebrows at him.

Martin glared at him, not that Douglas could see through the shades anyway. “I happen to like them, Douglas.” He adjusted said glasses onto his nose and set his towel at his feet. “Plus, the sun hurts my eyes today.”

Douglas returned to his book.

Just then, Arthur splashed out from under the water. “Skip!” He bubbled, rubbing his eyes. “Come on, the water’s brilliant!”

“Just a second, Arthur.” Martin got up and sat on the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in the water, toe by toe. It was cold but somehow…well, brilliant. Like Arthur said.

He let his feet drop in up to his knees and slowly moved them under the water in synchronized circles. The water felt cleansing. He forgot everything in just a moment, just a second.

Arthur splashed him. The droplets of water hitting his shirt and face took him out of his trance. “Come on, Skip! Please?”

“Oh, alright!” He smiled and got up. He didn’t want to jump in right away, it was way too cold. But before he got to the stairs descending into the pool, he suddenly felt like jumping.

He’d regret it for sure. But he didn’t care. The water looked so…inviting. Just to take it in, all at once, would be glorious. He’d never do it again, of course. But it felt right. He looked around. Not too many people. Only a few groups. all conformed to their corners of the pool. Splashing wouldn’t be too big of an upset.

So he walked back to where he was before. Arthur looked confused for a minute but must have realized, but before he could get too excited, Martin jumped.

He entered a different world. It was slow moving, and…sloshy. His eyes stung but Martin didn’t care. He blinked and looked around him. He saw Arthur’s legs (bright red trunks) and other people’s too. He just stayed for a minute. It felt quiet. Just enough quiet, but there was noise too. It was perfect. A perfect feeling for Martin.

Just then, his ear popped. 


	5. The Elevator Could Be Fun

Martin’s hands flew to his ears (well, as fast as they could move underwater) and he pressed on them. He let himself float to the surface and went to the edge of the pool near their chairs. He hit his ears, he stuck his fingers inside them but he still had the feeling water had gotten in them. His brain felt sloshly. Full.

“Skip, are you alright?” Arthur asked, making  Carolyn’s head snap in their direction. Douglas moved his eyes up from his book. “Martin, if it’s you inner ear-“

“Oh,,shut up Douglas,” Martin snapped, still playing with his ears. “Just some water in them.” And finally, the feeling went away. “See?” He said, gesturing. “Just fine.”

He swam more, too. He swam the longest he had in a very long time, underwater, having splash contests with Arthur, and jumping into the deep end (but swimming away fast, because he never like not being able to touch the bottom of the pool with his toes). The sun started to set and Martin needed to use the bathroom. He walked the whole way back to his room for some reason. And when he was done he decided that he wanted a drink. Martin wasn’t very big on drinking; especially hard drinking, but he wanted something different than the regular club soda from a fountain. So he got dressed- yes, In his uniform, and left, being sure to leave the extra keycard at the desk for Douglas. Not that he would need it; Martin only wanted one drink.

He walked up to the biggest empty space of the bar’s counter. The bar was crowded but not too busy. A bartender looked up at him.  
“Amaretto Sour,” Martin said. It took only 1 minute to get the drink but for Martin that time stretched. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted it. When the bartender set it in front of him he drank nearly 1/3 of it in one swig. It felt sour and sweet…it burned down his throat but in the best possible way. It felt good. Two more swigs and he needed another glass. He nodded at the bartender. Next glass, it only took two drinks. Then the 3rd glass took one. One giant swig of lovely alcohol. His headache seemed to vanish.  
“You should probably slow down,” a voice said next to him.

She was a brunette, almost as tall as Martin, with lovely legs, and eyes the color of the ocean (well, the sky would be more appropriate in Martin’s case). She smiled at Martin and he nearly spit out his drink.

“Oh, um, h-h-hello.” He looked at her eyes. She smiled even wider.

“I’m Anita.” Her accent and skin tone said south of the border. She has gleaming white teeth. Martin couldn’t help but grin and he felt silly so he cleared his throat. “I’m Martin.” He said.

She laughed. “Martin, why the uniform?” She playfully dragged a finger along his epilates of one sleeve, making Martin shiver. “What do you do, Marrrrtin?” Her accent rolled the R’s, making Martin feel suddenly warm.

“I, uh, well…I’m a C-Captain.” He cleared his throat.

“A Captain?” She said.

“OH! A, uh, uh, I fly a plane. I am the captain of a plane.” He straightened his shirt, which felt tighter than usual on his small, angular body.

“Ohhhhh,” she said, grinning. Her finger never left his arm. He got goose bumps.

“Tell me, Captain Martin…” she said, stepping closer to him. “Do you have a room close by?”

Martin looked at her. She wanted to sleep with him? It was a small victory, and she would have slept with anyone, but he didn’t care. He’d never done this, a one-night stand before, and it felt liberating to even be offered one. He wanted it so bad…He was on vacation, right? One fun night, then she leaves….but then he remembered Douglas.

“Well I do h-have a room…b-but someone is staying there as well, you see.” He looked at her.

“Oh, that’s alright, my room is on the 4th floor. The elevator could be fun, eh?” She loops a finger between his belt and pants.  
The walk, arm in arm, drinking their newly ordered drinks. Martin sees Douglas, luckily, and tells him about the keycard at the desk. Douglas looked confused for a second and nodded. Martin continued to the elevator.

The door s shut and she attacked him. He could barely breathe because of her kisses, she held on to him so tight, and he felt so good about it he took control. Pushed her against the wall and kissed her neck, let her untuck his shirt and work on his tie, his buttons, and they got to her room door and she pulled him into the hall, into the bed, he unzipped her dress with more force than he planned on, and when he apologized for it and more little things she just laughed and too more clothes off.

I was true glory. It was fast and slow, it was hot and cool it was fun and serious all at the same time. Martin did what he wanted, she let him, and she did things to him that he will never forget. And never remember. After wards she layed next to him, arm draping over his bare chest. He felt so…relaxed. He fell asleep quickly.

***

  
“Rise and Shine, _Captain_.” Douglas said, opening the thick curtains to let the bright sun hit Martin’s face. “Long night?”

Martin blinked. His room? But he didn’t remember leaving Anita. He rubbed his eyes. His headache was back. All over, this time.

Douglas sat down in one of the chairs. “Martin,” he said “Do you remember last night?”

Martin sat up. He was in his white shirt and swim trunks…

“What do you mean? Yes, of course.”

“Martin, so you remember where I found you?” Douglas looked in his eyes.

“Where you found…”

“By the pool, Martin. You were laying, eyes open, mumbling,  on the edge of the pool. Do you know why?”

Martin didn’t understand. He and Anita left? But why the pool?

“I was a little confused when you were at the bar mumbling, but admitted to myself that you mumble a lot when you’re thinking so that must have been it. But when you came up to me, you were talking and laughing as if there was someone with you. Why, Martin? I know you were a little tipsy…I thought you were going to our room to sleep it off.”

So there was no Anita? No one-night stand? No…no sex?

He didn’t understand. He shifted his feet and turned over on the bed. He felt funny. Did he dream the whole thing? No, he never remembered his dreams.  So…

No, it couldn’t be.

No. It couldn’t-

All of a sudden, Douglas was in view, blocking the sun. Now Martin was cold. But Douglas’ hand touched his forehead for a moment, and before Martin could protest, Douglas said “Martin!”

Martin looked up at him, feeling dizzy and lightheaded. He sat up. “What?” he mumbled.

Douglas only murmured something before leaving the room. He forgot his key card.

Martin slowly got up and went to get it.

He picked it up.

But his head, oh his head…He felt so light and heavy at the same time, hot and cold, near and far from the door.

He saw white, and the purple,

and then Black.

He collapsed.


	6. What You've Always Wanted

First, it was Douglas, standing at the door. No key card, damn, so he knocks. Nothing. Knocks. Nothing.

He stands there thinking for a moment about how Martin should really-

Wait.

Douglas then pounds on the door with his fist, yelling Martin’s name out.

“Very funny, Martin, we all know you’re funny, now let’s go.”

But when there was no response Douglas ran to the front desk.

The receptionist said someone would meet them there in just a moment, and Douglas runs to the rooms, yelling for Carolyn.

Then everyone is at the door, the key card holder opens it and Douglas pushed past him to get inside-

He sees Martin on the floor, face down, and drops beside him. Carolyn takes her phone out, dialing 911; Arthur comes from behind her and looks in, fidgeting with his fingers. Douglas turns Martin around and feels for a pulse, its light but there, and he tries to wake Martin to no avail…

EMTs come in and do the usual, saying things no one else can really make out, and Douglas is told to step aside, He goes over to Carolyn, who has Arthur’s hand, and says he will ride with Martin to the hospital. Carolyn only nods. Arthur is frozen.

A stretcher is rolled into the room and Martin is moved to it, air mask and all. The sight makes Douglas shiver. He followed the stretcher to the vehicle and climbed inside once Martin was loaded.

***

“What do you mean, you can’t tell us anything?” Carolyn demanded in a shrill voice.

“I’m sorry; M’am, but you aren’t family. You aren’t his emergency contacts. We can’t tell you anything right now.” The doctor looked at her, then Douglas, who was leaning against the doorway. He looked at Arthur, sitting in the chair by the window, doing nothing.

“So…when can we see him then? He’ll tell us.” Douglas looked at the doctor, who looked at his watch.

“Soon. They’ll bring him down very soon I think. After a CAT scan and MRI.” He steps away.

“Well, damn,” Carolyn said. “His family won’t care. Why shouldn’t we know?” She looked up at Douglas.

He sighed. “Ridiculous. We brought him.” He sits beside Arthur.

“Skip…is he gonna be all right, Doug?”

“I hardly think Martin goes down this easily, Arthur. We can see him soon.”

***

Martin takes a look around the room. So white and clean, he thought. He could sleep here nicely. Better than an attic anyway.  And the food, God-the food. There was food here and everyone complains about it, but Martin honestly couldn’t wait to look at the menu they hand you can pick up that phone and place an order of whatever he wanted. Just for him. And it’d be a lot of food too, so much Martin couldn’t finish but he would sure as hell try.

The door handle clicked and Martin turned his head over. He sat up quickly and pulled his cover up above his waist. Anita smiled and tiptoed in, leaving the door ajar. The light shone in her hair.

“A-Anita. What are you doing here?” Martin straightened himself up against a mountain of pillows. “I thought-“

“Never mind, darling.” Her accent seemed even lovelier than before. “I came as soon as I heard what happened. Are you all right?”

Martin looked down and fingered the edges of the blanket. “As fine as I can be, I suppose.” He looked up at her. “How did you-“

She sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t be silly, everyone in the hotel knows.” She smiled sadly at him.  “You’re alright, then? Handling things?”

Martin’s eyebrows furrowed at her. “What do you-“

“Oh, honey, please. I’m no idiot. I also have great connections.”  She crossed her legs.

“You haven’t let me finish a sentence yet” He said.

She smiled. “I just did.”

“Y-Yes, well. There’s just one thing I don’t understand.  We were together last night, right? But I woke up in my room. I don’t-“

Anita laughed. It flowed from one breath to another, her voice carrying a beautiful tune. “Martin, don’t question things. I’m just here to give you what you want. What you’ve always wanted.” She pats his hand.

“What I’ve always wanted. Wha-“

Once again, interruption. “Martin, darling, don’t think about it. It’s pointless. Just enjoy it all.” Anita stands up, straightening her skirt. She steps to lean over Martin, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon.” She walks toward the door, turns to wink at him, and steps out. She turns right and walks on into the hall.

Martin puts his hands on the back of his neck and leans over. The pain is back now but only dull. He reaches for the pain medication bottle on the bedside table. The door handle clicks again.


	7. Marseille to Marseilles

Arthur was first into the room. He sprang into the room and yelled out “Skip!” before rushing to the opposite side of the room to the left of Martin’s bed, near the window.

“Gosh, it’s dark in here.”

He opened the curtains, nearly blinding Martin. He put his arm up to block the sun, but his vision was already whited-out and he couldn’t see who came into the room next. When he finally could see, Douglas was already sitting in the most comfortable chair in the room, and Carolyn stood at the foot of the bed.

“Well,” Douglas took a breath and tapped the arm of the chair. “I think you do know how to grab everyone’s attention.” He looked over at Martin. Martin’s cheeks felt hot. He looked to Carolyn.

“…Sorry.” He said it quietly, almost a whisper. Carolyn shook her head.

“Don’t apologize; I’m just glad you’re alright.” She paused, and then asked. “You are…alright, then? Everything’s okay?”

Martin’s eyes opened wide. Hot cheeks again. He chuckled nervously.

“Oh, just this damn….inner-ear thing. Apparently it is a little…bothered. Stress on the body, I guess. That’s what the doctor said.” He looked down at his fingers. The tips felt as if there were pins and needles in them. He fidgeted and laughed again, picking his head up. “Nothing a bit of sleep won’t cure!”

Douglas studied Martin’s face. He looked unconvinced. Martin was never that…cheery on his own.

Arthur interrupted his thoughts. “So, do we have to go back to Fitton, then, Mum?”

Martin answered before she could. “No, we must stay and enjoy Florida a bit more. I can’t stand the thought of any England rain just yet.” His eyes darted to Carolyn, who bit her lip. She looked at Douglas.

Douglas hit the arm of the chair in enthusiasm. “Of course we have to stay. No future flights until the Burling trip, which isn’t for a few weeks. And I dare say someone might enjoy a driving trip to the wonderful world of _D-I-S-N-E-Y._ ” He nodded over to Arthur, who had found the telly remote and pressed the power button.

Carolyn sighed. “But how will we-“ the charges for hotel rooms alone would erase any thought of getting out of debt within he lifetime.

Douglas interrupted. “I am clever, Carolyn. We’ll be fine. Sleep in a car, a cheap one at that. I do have extended family in the States who owe me huge favors. That is, if Martin feels up to it, of course.” The tone of sarcasm made Martin glare, and then smile.

“I really don’t want to go back to the attic. Even a car is better. And I have some money saved up…”

Carolyn threw her hands up. “Alright, alright! We can stay a bit longer. But if we have another episode like today it’s straight back home, all of us.”

Douglas stood up. “That’s settled then. Anything else, then, Martin?” Martin shook his head.

Carolyn headed to the door. “Come on, Arthur.”

Martin’s head snapped in their direction. “Oh, err…”

Carolyn looked back. Martin cleared his throat. “You know, visiting hours…I think they’re until 8 or something.”

Douglas stopped in the doorway and turned. “Mmm?”

Carolyn hit his arm lightly. Martin’s face felt hotter than ever.

“We could just order some room service here…if you’d like. I won’t eat everything anyway, and it’s free. You know, save some…save some money.”

Carolyn’s face looked deep in thought for a moment. Then she realized.

“Oh, of course. Always good for a free meal, we are. Arthur, watch the telly.”

Douglas, however, still didn’t understand. “But-“ Carolyn pinched his arm. “Damn! Oh, oh…yes. As long as they have biscuits and sausage, I’m fine.” He scooted his chair closer to the bed. Carolyn pulled another next to his. Arthur channel-surfed.

Martin’s blush finally calmed and he gave a genuine smile. “Err…thanks.” He leaned over and grabbed his menu to hand to Douglas, who fingered along the choices. He mentally chose one and handed the menu to Carolyn. Then he grinned.

“Marseilles to Marseille.” He smiled triumphantly to Martin.

Martin gawked for a moment. “Oh, now that’s just not fair.”

“It is too!”

Just then, Arthur jumped a bit in his seat. The sounds of a cartoon played faintly while he excitedly watched, and Martin and Douglas played. Carolyn just rested, and watched.


	8. I Can Lie When I Want To

Douglas was, of course, right as always. Arthur loved Disney World. Having said that, you must have realized by this moment that everyone loved Disney World. But Arthur loved it within the first two minutes of their tram ride from the parking lot to the park's entrance. Everything was "brilliant" in some shape or form. (Let's just forget the fact that he says it about everything else. This is Disney World, of course everything's properly brilliant.)

Douglas was cheerier than usual, Carolyn didn't nag nearly as much, and even Martin was sporting a cheek-to-cheek grin on his face when they stepped through the metal bars into the Wonderful World of Disney. Characters were everywhere, kids were laughing, families bonding; and the only four employees of MJN Air could only just stand for a moment, just to absorb it all. Until Arthur squealed, making a sound similar to a 3-year-old girl.

"Mum! There's Goofy!" He pointed, grinning. Carolyn rolled her eyes but smiled at him. Douglas opened up the park map, silently declaring himself the Tour Guide of the day, and Martin just looked around him, everywhere. He squinted into the sun's light. His skin felt pleasantly warm. The sun trickled over his arms (he was actually wearing a t-shirt) and his sunglasses made him feel invincible.

After a few hours they split up. Carolyn took Arthur to see some of the family rides while Douglas sat on a bench, looking at the map yet again. Martin sat next to him, slipping his aviators off and rubbing the sweat off his nose. All in a flash, he reached over and snatched the map out of Douglas' hands and held it behind him.

"Alright, Sir Tour Guide, that's enough. Just pick a place to go." He folded the map once and stuffed it into his cargo shorts. "We don't need to plan everything. It's an amusement park."

Douglas looked confused as he watched him for a moment. "Spontaneous today, are we? Bit of a change from usual." He raised an eyebrow. Martin shot him a look.

"You've had your nose in that map all day, Douglas. I just want to walk and get on a ride or see a show or take pictures or…something. Something." He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

Douglas stood up and adjusted his cap "All right then, Mr. Spontaneous, let's go. You choose the route."

"Fine." Martin stood up and glanced around, eyeing the liberty Square path in front of him. He could see the ferry moving along the water. "Isn't the Haunted Mansion that way?" He pulls out the map form his pocket to try and see. But Douglas snatches the map back from him.

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Only one way to see, Martin. Let's go." He starts walking ahead of him, and Martin tries to follow quickly.

"Have you even been to the States before this?" Martin notices a little boy walking past him, with a Mickey Mouse ear hat. Douglas sees too as they start up the little hilled asphalt that led to the Mansion ride.

"Yes, three times. I have one cousin that lives in New York, and she had a wedding there. The other two times I was in Chicago. Both lovely cities, of course, but this one has my fancy so far. Orlando has a wide variety of-" Douglas realizes that Martin is no longer behind him and he turns around, only to see Martin slightly hunched over a few feet behind him, out of breath. Douglas doubles back and walks to him.

"Martin, the whole point of walking up to the ride is to actually get there," Douglas starts, but Martin picks his head up and rolls his eyes.

"Just a minute, Douglas. I just want to take a breath." And that's when Douglas notices Martin's cheeks, tinged with pink and beaded with sweat a little. Douglas knew this was the norm at an amusement park, for anyone. But it had only been five minutes since they had started walking and Martin was technically supposed to be taking it easy. 

"Give me your water bottle," Douglas said. "And sit down, Martin, I don't think Carolyn would appreciate if you collapsed and you had to go the hospital yet again." Martin only nodded and sat on the green bench closest to them, handing Douglas the almost empty bottle.

A few minutes later the water bottle was full from the fountain and Douglas sat down next to Martin, handing it to him. Martin took several gulps before leaning back into the bench, almost immediately feeling better. Douglas relaxed a little more too.

"We can always go back to the hotel," he tried. "If you want to rest."

"I'm fine here, Douglas. Don't be silly."

"I'm just saying, it's only been three days since you-"

"Yes, Douglas, I know." Martin sighed. "Can we not talk about it now?"

"Does this mean I need to prepare for talking about it in the future?" Douglas quirks a brow.

"You brought it up!"

Douglas was the one who sighed now. "Nevermind. I'm just…saying."

Martin seemed surprised that Douglas didn't have more to say. He stood up. "Come on, then, Haunted Mansion?" Douglas stood too and inhaled.

"Haunted Mansion, right."

The walk was fairly quick after that. Douglas couldn't tell if Martin was actually feeling better or if he was just trying to look like he was. Douglas watched him take some sort of medication he had gotten from the hospital (Douglas hadn't been able to see what it was yet, Martin of course kept it secret), and he ignored the nagging feeling he had. Finally they were at the end of the line in front of the mansion, just inside the front door.

Martin mumbled something to himself and chuckled, making Douglas raise a brow.

"What?"

"I was just thinking…I should have, I don't know, gotten a doctor's note and a wheelchair. We wouldn't have to wait, probably. It would have been a good excuse."

Douglas chuckled too. "I didn't peg you for a liar, Martin."

"I can lie when I want to, " Martin argued, and the way he said it told Douglas that he wasn't lying (ironically). And Douglas didn't wait a second.

"Like about your health?"

Martin narrowed his gaze at him. "Douglas, I said I was fine."

"But you just said you can lie when you want, so I'm just asking."

"Asking-" Martin sounded confused, and then Douglas sounded angry.

"If you're lying about your health! Admit it, Martin, this is more that the inner-ear thing. We have a hospital visit to prove it, not to mention the fact that you can barely walk without getting tired, and you never told me what happened at the hotel that night."

The ride's cars were roaring into earshot now, and they were all in the room where the voice comes into the intercom to try an scare you before you've even sat down in a car yet. Martin looked around and admired the pain on the walls; grateful for an interruption. Douglas watched Martin's eyes.

The door opened and on they walked as a group, and finally the cars came into view. They moved fairly quickly by themselves and an attendant set you up in your groups. Douglas held up two fingers to the attendant and she nudged them in the direction of a moving car-and Douglas realized the cars don't stop for you. You have to hurry the hell up and get in before you're left.

Martin had realized this back at the beginning of the room and stepped in front of Douglas to get into the car. "Come on!" he said loudly, holding out his hand. Douglas took it and struggled to get into the car, surprisingly making it in just enough time for the car to shoot forward a bit into the dark hallway.

It was enjoyable so far; Martin loved the graphics across the wall, the digital-made ghosts and spirits that flew overhead and startled you. Douglas enjoyed it too, although he was probably a little more startled than he would care to admit.

They reached the part of the ride where the car spun in circles quickly, and that's when it all changed.

At first, it was fine. Martin told himself it would be over in a few seconds, probably three at the most, and Douglas glanced to him in his peripheral vision, wondering if it was too much for Martin. It was longer than three seconds-hell, it could have been an hour, because that's what it felt like. Martin suddenly realized he couldn't make it. He wouldn't make it. His head hurt more than it did this morning, and that was when he woke up wondering who had planted a damn bomb in there. And everything swerved around him, in circles and in squares- it took him a second to realize he was seeing colors. He gripped onto the bar tighter in front of him and took a deep breath.

"Douglas." His voice came out quiet but it was the loudest thing inside to mansion at the same time, to Douglas' ears. He turned a bit.

"It's almost over, Martin, keep breathing. Fainting in rides makes you a wuss."

Martin smiled at that, but a surge of light panged at his head again, making him close his eyes. His voice broke this time. "Douglas-"

"Yes, yes, I know, just hold on-" And suddenly Martin did the only thing he could do to make himself feel grounded, feel unmoving-he grabbed Douglas' hand.

"Douglas, I'm dying!" His head warped between real life and fantasy, and he felt like throwing it all up. "Douglas-"

Douglas turned his face to Martin, uncaring about the hand-holding, or anything else for that matter. "Martin, you aren't dying, it's a ride!"

"I'm dying-"

"No you're not!"

"Douglas!" And Martin opened his eyes to see Douglas' staring into them, just as the spinning stopped and their car slowly crawled up the conveyor belt to the end of the ride. Douglas cleared his throat.

"You're…you're not."

And all Martin could do was laugh and let go of Douglas' hand.


	9. I've Never Been Proud a Day in My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooo much for being patient with me. I hope this keeps you the tiniest bit happy. Reviews and Recs are always welcome!

Martin got through the exit door with a violent push, storming in front of Douglas. He strode ahead, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand- and Douglas trying to catch up. Douglas forced out a laugh, trying to break the awkward (and, from the looks of Martin, angry) silence between them, in a loud park full of families and screaming children.

“Thought you might have made it, Martin. You almost did too-“

“Shut up.” Martin growled without looking back, trudging up the hilled asphalt to an unknown destination. “Just-“

Douglas rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Martin, I was just-“

“Shut up!” Martin stops and turns around, eyes seemingly dark. “Shut up, Douglas, just shut it!”

Douglas stopped too, looking up at Martin, confused. “Martin?”

“It isn’t funny. You’re not…” Martin takes a deep breath, wiping some new formed sweat form his forehead. “You’re not funny.”

“I wasn’t _trying_ to be funny, Martin. Not entirely, anyway. Calm down.”

“I most certainly will not!” Martin exclaims, causing one Mother to glance over as she passed.

Douglas raised an eyebrow. “If you’re not feeling well, Martin, we can sit down.”

“I’m feeling fine, Douglas.” Martin huffs.

“Then why in God’s name are you shouting at me in the middle of Disney World?!”

It was almost as if everything had stopped then- no families walking around them, all of the rides had stopped moving. Martin sighed and glanced around, looking slightly confused now too.

“I don’t…” he rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.” Douglas takes a few steps to reach Martin, patting his shoulder. “Perhaps the heat really is getting to you. Let’s have a sit-down, a cool drink, and Mr. Spontaneous can choose our next fun-filled location. I’d like to enjoy a few more things before Carolyn and Arthur meet up with us tonight.”

Martin nodded slightly, allowing himself to be led with Douglas’ hand right between his shoulder blades. He pulled his water bottle out and took a large drink, immediately feeling relieved.

“Could have been the medication,” Martin mumbles to himself.

“Hmm?” Douglas takes a drink from his own bottle, looking over at him. “What do you mean, medication? You’re only taking Tylenol.”

Martin blushed. “Well…they gave me some pain meds for my head. A, erm…” his pinks shade darker if possible. “I don’t remember the name. I think mood swings, that was a side effect.”

Douglas studies him intently, not saying anything for a second. Finally he takes another drink with a smack of the lips and opens his mouth.

“That paired with the heat, I suppose anyone could get nasty.”

“I wasn’t _nasty,_ Douglas.”

“You were getting there.”

“Oh, come on.”

Neither of them says anything after that. Martin looks around at the tall buildings and show stages, and Douglas at a few children passing by. Martin finally says something.

“Isn’t there a train?”

“Mhm.” Douglas nods absently.

“Could we just get ton that for a bit? …Ride around?” Martin turns to him.

“You want to ride the train. At Disney World.” He sounds disbelieving, knowing full-on Martin was serious.

“Yeah, we could just get off if we see something we like-“

“I’d think about rephrasing that statement, Martin-“

“Shut up!” Martin half shouts but starts laughing, his pinks turning pink but from embarrassment. “Y’know what I meant.”

“Yes.”

“Yes you know what I meant, or…?” Martin raises his eyebrows.

“Yes. There’s the other train too, this one.” Douglas pulls out the map from the front pocket of Martin’s bag, pointing. “It’s just a small one, it goes through the park instead of around it. We could see more. It’s a bit faster too. Tunnels and all that. For us daredevils.” He smirks.

Martin chuckles. “You forgot spontaneous.”

“Quite right. That’s really what you want to do?”

Martin almost look s sheepish as he nods.” Could be…relaxing. You said I needed to take it easy. We’ll find a ride on the way.”

“Fine by me.” Douglas stands.

***

“This is quite nice, actually.” Martin slouches a bit in the seat, allowing his posture to be absolutely horrible. Douglas stretches his arms out as they enter the tunnel near space Mountain, with Buzz Lightyear’s voice booming in their speakers.

“Not too bad, quite right.” He blinks to adjust to the darkness, and then like that they’re back in regular sunlight again. “What pain meds are you taking?”

Martin gives him a look. “Told you, I don’t remember.”

“But you have them with you, yeah?”

“No.”

“They’re pain meds, Martin, yes you do. I’m sure I saw you take a pill earlier.”

“So?”

“You could pull them out, read me the label. Or hand the bottle to me?”

“”S not important, Douglas. Just some low-grade pain meds-”

“How did you afford them?” Douglas interrupts.

“I said I had some money saved up.” Martin speaks defiantly.

“Enough for a trip to the happiest place on Earth and a hospital stay in the states?”

Martin turns a bright shade of red, as if he didn’t even realize this until now. “I’ll just have…to figure it out. I always do.”

Douglas sighs. “Nearly starving and living in a dorm house attic is not exactly what I call _figuring it out._ ”

“Look, it-it doesn’t matter!” Martin groans and rubs the palms of his hand into his eyes. “I’m not going to think about it now of all times, or here of all places. Or with you, of all people.”

Douglas sits up a bit in his seat, looking into his eyes. “Martin, if you want-“

“No.” Martin sits up too, shaking his head. “I’m serious. And anyway, taking pity from my first officer isn’t going to help me any more than collections calling my house. I said I will think about it later. It’s a vacation, for Christ’s sake. I want to enjoy myself.” He reaches into his bag angrily, pulling out the aforementioned pill bottle, and unscrewing the top. One pill into his mouth quickly, bottle back in the bag. Before Douglas could even read the first letter.

“Martin, please. You can stop being proud any moment now.” Douglas eyes him as he swallows the pill and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back for a minute. Martin’s body visibly relaxes, slouching into the seat again as he exhales.

“I’ve never been proud a day in my life, Douglas. I’m not about to start now.”

Douglas sighs and looks out into the park as they pass the main drag.

“Funny, what you said on the ride, you know. Scared me for a minute, there.”

Martin picks his head up, looking at Douglas with a confused face.

“Wh-What did I say?”

“Oh, you know,” Douglas waves his hand in dismissal, “The ‘dying’ bit.” He watches martin for his reaction.

Martin lets out one laugh and turns to look out into the park too, watching a mother with her son in a stroller.

He always hoped he’d have a kid. Just one, so he could tell them they could be whatever they wanted to be.

“Yeah, I suppose it was amusing.” Martin laughs again, sitting up straight again. “Although I did feel like it at the time.”

“I’ve always wondered what it would _feel_ like, to be dying. If you knew.” Martin thinks aloud and crossed his right leg over his left. “It it a sense of foreboding or…maybe a relief?”

“I suppose it could depend….on how long you know? Say in a plane crash, it’s probably terrifying. But if you know ahead of time, maybe…” Martin swallows. “Maybe it’s more of a relief. Don’t really have to worry about anything.”

“Mmm.” Douglas nods, still looking out. “But anyway, you’d still know, wouldn’t you? I’d say that’s something to feel bad about either way. Knowing what was coming.” He shivers. “Nope, that’d be unpleasant.”

Martin looks up at him, swallowing again. He squints his eyes as the sun flashes overhead before they enter a tunnel for the third time.

“Unpleasant, yeah. Sounds about right.” He sighs and suddenly feels the weight of the pill in his stomach, and his aches don’t disappear anywhere near fast enough.

Douglas doesn’t realize, but Martin watches his face for a long time after that.

The children’s laughter on the other end of the train is finally able to distract him.


	10. Is That What It's like?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the patience...it's been absolutely insane. I've already started the next chapter, shouldn't be long. -Courtney

Anita came to him again.

He was alone in his and Douglas’ room. Martin wanted to take a shower before they went to see the fireworks at Disney- Douglas insisted that he smelled _fine, don’t be ridiculous Martin,_ but the combination of sweat sticking to Martin’s shirt and his now throbbing headache prompted the decision to ride the monorail back to the hotel for a bit. He was tired, anyway. And a long hot shower sounded perfect right now.

And perfect it was. Martin stood underneath the warm water for a good twenty-five minutes, eyes closed and breaths deepening. If nothing else, it dulled the roaring pain in his head, the constant _thump-thump-thump_ that drowned out his ears and the _thud-thud-thud_ he could feel down to his neck. He rolled his shoulders and sighed before stepping out, wrapping a towel around his waist.

The quiet of the room was peaceful. No obnoxious late-night American telly host that Douglas would have otherwise had on, no cartoons eliciting laughter from Arthur. And Carolyn’s shrill voice was nowhere to be heard.

So when Martin looked up from his suitcase after hearing a knock at the door, he cursed under his breath. Leave it to Douglas to follow him back. Couldn’t he just mind his own-

But Anita stood in the doorway, and Martin almost felt his knees buckle. Her skin was tanner, if that was possible. She smiled and slid her hand up the door’s frame, leaning a bit. Her velvety voice cut into the silence, but suddenly Martin didn’t mind.

“I was wondering when I’d catch you alone, darling. It’s been too long.”

Martin wondered how often he’d be seeing Anita, and why he was seeing her at all. But just like before, all of his thoughts surrounded Anita and her beauty, her accent, her _being-_ and suddenly Martin didn’t give a toss why she was coming to him. That didn’t matter, really, did it? She was coming to him. That’s what mattered.

“I just…” Martin swallowed audibly. “I just saw you two days ago, didn’t I? Y..Yes, two days, wasn’t it?” He curled his toes absently and she smiled that smile; Lips curling and plumping but no showing of the teeth. Martin suddenly remembered something about a quote, something with teeth, but he couldn’t place it.

But Anita’s womanly giggle cut into his thoughts. “Oh, love, stop _thinking_ about it, won’t you?” She took a step closer, lowering her voice. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Oh, hell. Martin was done for. He knew it already. “O-Of course, sorry, here-“ He opened the door and stepped back, watching her glide into the room. Her heels made no sound on the cheap motel carpet but Martin counted her steps. “Come in, do you want something to drink?”

“I should have come earlier.” Anita glances around as Martin closed the door behind her, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “I see I missed shower time.” She turned her head slightly to look Martin up and down once. And well, if that didn’t cause Martin’s heart to pound even louder in his head he didn’t know what would. He realized the deep V- line down the back of her red dress, showing skin until just the end of her spine. He cleared his throat.

“Ah, yes- it was warm at the park. Thought I’d clean up a bit. Meeting my friends for the-“

“Such a shame,” she interrupted, dropping her purse on the chair and turning to sit on the edge of the bed. “Cleaning up only to get dirty again.”

And then, she winked. Martin immediately gave up on all coherent thought.

“Dunno...what you mean?” He squeaked out, stuck between staying where he was and tackling her back onto the bed. The carpet beneath him felt wet; water still dripped down his thighs and calves. Speaking of calves-

“Come here, darling. “Anita held her hand out to him suddenly, palm down, and the next thing Martin knew he had taken it, pressing his lips to it and kneeling in front of her.

It felt appropriate at the time. Despite the fact that he only had his towel on.

She smiled down at him, but still no teeth. A nagging thought bit at Martin’s brain. But before he could think about it she spoke again, focusing his thoughts for him.

“How are we feeling today, love? I hear you were a bit…irritable today? Forgetful?”

“How did…” Martin dropped her hand and leaned back on his heel, “What do you mean?”

“Mood swings from your medication, that was a good cover.” She reached her hand to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “Douglas isn’t an idiot, though.”

“Nevermind that.” Martin bit out the words. He didn’t need a reminder of what he already knew.

Anita raised her eyebrows at him, tugging his earlobe. “Don’t get snippy with me, darling. Attitude makes me angry. And you don’t want to see me angry.”

Martin suddenly felt and overwhelming feeling of guilt and he looked down. “Sorry…’S just…” he thought about it, unsure of what it was, “this headache, I suppose.”

Anita let out a small laugh and tilted his chin up. “Don’t think about what Douglas said. He may not be an idiot, but he doesn’t know anything about dying. Not yet.”

The feeling of guilt morphed into a sense of anger, and Martin felt his pulse pick up. “Can’t he ever leave anything alone?”

Anita grabbed his wrist gently. “He cares, Martin, despite what you think.” She pats the bed beside her. “Come on.”

Before he could think about it Martin was sitting beside her, one leg bent on the bed and one hanging. They faced each other- Martin trying to even his breaths and Anita studying him intently, head tilted.

“You’re upset, love, admit it.” She spoke gently and quietly, just above a whisper.

Martin replied immediately, defiantly. “’M not upset.”

“Yes you are. Look at me, Darling.” She touched his knee and he blinked, forcing the gaze to the threads of the comforter he sat on, then counting the pills of fabric on his towel. They were so small he felt dizzy.

Anita waited a second before trying again, but she spoke firmly. “Martin, look. At me.” Her R rolled into the T this time, but Martin still looked down. He wasn’t upset. And now she was prying-

Anita spoke again but loudly, almost in a shrill tone. “Look at me!” And suddenly Martin felt his head pick up to look at her- and Martin realized her fingertips were digging into his chin slightly. He swallowed.

“I’m not-“

“Do not lie to me.” Anita spoke slowly before loosening her grip on Martin’s jaw line, her voice resuming its original smoothness. “I am here to make you happy, darling. Why won’t you let me?” She traced her finger down Martin’s cheek, looking into his eyes. “I just want you to tell me how you feel. It isn’t difficult.”

Martin furrowed his brows. “I…I don’t understand, Anita.”

“That’s the best part, Martin. You don’t need to understand. You just have to listen to me.”

Martin thinks this over for a moment and sighs. “I’m going to be late for the fireworks...”

“Don’t worry about that. You’re worried about what he said, aren’t you?” Anita moved closer to him, her fingertip playing with the hem of Martin’s towel. He nodded, licking his lips.

_“I’ve always wondered what it would feel like, to be dying. If you knew…Maybe it’s more of a relief. Don’t really have to worry about anything.”_

_“Mmm.” Douglas nods, still looking out. “But anyway, you’d still know, wouldn’t you? I’d say that’s something to feel bad about either way. Knowing what was coming.” He shivers. “Nope, that’d be unpleasant.”_

 

Martin found himself speaking before he could think about it. “He…is that what it’s like? …Unpleasant? D’you think?”

How did she know what Douglas-

Anita’s lips were inches away from his now, her voice only a whisper. “You tell me, darling. You know better than I.”

And suddenly Martin was crying- loudly and obnoxiously, his tears ruining the satin shoulder of Anita’s dress. His chest heaved and hurt, his head hurt even more than before; But even after only thirty seconds of listening to Anita’s shushes and feeling her palm on his bare back rubbing in circles, Martin’s shoulder’s felt lighter. He carried a weight less heavy than just hours before.

It went on like this for…well, Martin wasn’t sure. It could have been ten minutes, maybe an hour. He cried silently, he cried loudly, and when he thought he was done crying somehow he felt his eyes find new tears to bring forward. He couldn’t remember the last time it was like this. When he was little, maybe. The third time failing his tests. The fifth time.

Somewhere in the middle of hit, he choked out the words.

“It…it feels _terrible_ , Anita.”

All she said was, “I know.”

***

Doulas opened the hotel room door quietly, almost afraid of seeing Martin passed out on the floor.

He was on the bed but it didn’t raise his spirits enough yet.

He was curled up on Douglas’ side, hand twitching every so many seconds. His lips moved slowly but he wasn’t saying anything. Only his towel was wrapped around his waist.

Carolyn places her hand on his forehead as Arthur peered over her shoulder. “Fever,” She whispered and Douglas went to get a cool cloth, applying it to his neck. Martin shudders in response, curling up a bit more.

Douglas sighed. “I suppose it’s going to be a long night.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed and he circled the bed. “Is he going to the hospital again?”

A quick look from Carolyn and Douglas shook his head. “Nahh. Martin’s strong fellow, he’ll pull through. Probably a bad headache, small flu.” He grabbed Martins backpack from beside the bed and started rummaging through it. “His pills are supposed to…ah.” He pulled out the bottle from the small pocket inside the front part, reading it.

“What is it? He’s never said they gave him anything.” Carolyn furrowed her brows.

Douglas speaks quietly, surprised. “It’s just…Vanquish.” He shrugs.

“What in the world is that?”

“Just…” Douglas shrugged. “Just a higher dose of Tylenol, really. Not an actual painkiller like I thought.”

“Like you thought?” Martin made a small noise and Carolyn instantly pats his arm.

“Well he was taking quite a few, is all. But the dosage is fairly weak. Maybe the headaches are bad.” He sat down on the edge of the bed slowly, as to not disturb Martin.

Carolyn sucked in a breath and looked down at Martin. “Can’t just be the inner ear thing. It seem…worse.” She almost looked worried as she watched Martin sleep, holding the cloth to his neck.

Martin stirred and mumbled suddenly and Douglas leaned a bit to listen.

“T…teeth.” Martin’s eyes shut hard and his neck arched a bit.

“What the hell…?” Carolyn looked at Douglas questioningly, and all he gave her was a shrug. “I dunno.”

She sighed and readjusted the cloth on martin’s neck, as his eyelids fluttered.

***

_“I do believe it has something to do with your soul.” Douglas says, looking up at the ceiling in contemplation. “To bare your teeth is to bare your soul?” He shrugs. “Can’t really remember.”_

_Martin gives him a look. “I’ve never heard of that before. I think you just make these things up to try and impress me.”_

_“Yes, because that’s my goal in life, Martin. To impress the great supreme commander, Sir.”_

_“Shut up.”_


	11. You Have to Be Alive to Fly a Plane

Martin's heart pounded in his chest- it danced, really, fluttered a bit somewhere in there- and he tried to sit up. The light from the window shone into the room...

It was _morning_ already? But the fireworks...Martin groaned and suddenly a pair of hands were on his shoulders, trying to push him back down on the bed.

Anita. She's probably still-

But Martin opened his eyes (that was really difficult, actually, because it felt like his eyelids were two sheets of steel over his eyes) and Douglas was looming over him. His voice was lined with worry. "Martin. Martin, it's alright, lie down."

Martin felt the soft pillow underneath his head again and he forgot about Anita, mostly. He blinked his eyes to hold them open for another minute, and there was Carolyn on the opposite side of the bed.

Another blink and he saw Arthur, too. What's-

But before Martin could even ask Douglas spoke first. "You're alright, Martin, need some sleep-" 

_That's ridiculous,_ Martin thought inside his head. _I've just been sleeping._

Or maybe he said it, because as usual Douglas was arguing with him and now Carolyn too.

"Just a fever, Martin...some tylenol and sleep-"

_Damn it, Douglas, I just slept!_

"We'll be back, going to get a doctor-"

Martin felt himself try move but Douglas' hands were too strong...or maybe he was too weak. 

_'M fine,_ Martin tried to groan out, _Already saw a doctor, for Christ's sake!_ His vision was blurry and suddenly he didn't really care, _Go away, all of you..._

His eyes closed and he saw black, felt the world slipping away.

*** 

"What does that mean?" Carolyn stood quickly, wringing her hands. "What does that mean, he's _'already fine, he'll be fine, not much longer'?!"_ She took a glance at Arthur, who's face seemed a little paler. "What does that _mean,_ Douglas?"

Douglas heaved a great sigh and reached for the first white lie he could come up with, though it still felt utterly ridiculous. "He's just delirious, Carolyn. Fevers make you say funny things. Let's just get him a doctor, alright? No sense worrying until a doctor says to." He stood and grabbed his mobile, pocketing it.

Arthur's voice was really quiet when he spoke. "Skip...he'll be alright, right mum?"

Carolyn didn't miss a beat as usual, composing her voice as she pulled another blanket over Martin and avoided Arthur's eyes. "Yes of course, he just needs some sleep and fluids." She turned her head to see Douglas, speaking slowly. "Just a flu."Arthur exhaled in relief and went back to his cheery demeanor.

Douglas nodded and stood. "Yes, I think we would be correct in calling this little show _"Martin putting us through the ringer."_ He cleared his throat. "He's fine, Arthur, quite pacing for God's sake. You need to keep your eyes on him while Carolyn and I go look for an actual profesional."

"I can be a professional!" Arhutr argued.

*** 

Maybe it was the way Skip was laying on the bed, or maybe it was the weird sounds he was making- but Arthur just felt…

Uncomfortable.

Martin didn’t look _normal_. He wasn’t laying normal in the bed, he had three blankets over his body in a weird way, and he sounded like he was talking gibberish!

Arthur couldn’t help giggling a bit when Martin spoke some of these weird words, but he tried to stay professional.

They gave him a job, didn’t they? Mum and Douglas. _Watch him, Arthur. Don’t take your eyes off him for one minute. We’ll be back soon._

Well he was going to do this job right. For Skip’s sake, anyway.

Martin shifted under the covers and moaned quietly, making Arthur shiver. He stood and leaned over the bed slightly, patting Martin’s arm.

“’S okay, Skip, you’ll feel loads better soon, and then we can go to Disney again.”

But the only response Arthur got from Martin was another groan, an upset-sounding one.

“Aww, Skip, you can’t get _worse_ , can you? Doulgas said it’s just a flu, and when I get the flu it’s only a few days that I’m all achey and I don’t think my fever’s ever been this high-“

But apparently Martin didn’t _care_ about Arthur’s flu or his temperature, because he had suddenly started to roll around on the bed, closer to the edge. Arthur sucked in a breath, “Wait! Skip-“ He pressed his knees against Martin’s back on the edge of the bed as Martin tried to roll backwards off of it- “Skip, you can’t move now, I’m all alone and I know you’re small but remember the time Mum let me carry those boxes at the airfield and you said they were too heavy but I said they weren’t?” Why couldn’t Martin just listen?

“Well you were right, they were too heavy and I dropped them! And I’m pretty sure you weigh more than those boxes.” But did he? Arthur thought about it: Martin’s arms were probably the weight of one box, maybe his legs were another box, and his body is probably two-

But as if to answer Arthur’s question and test all of his theories and his _professionalism_ Martin had decided to roll off the bed anyway. And Arthur wasn’t quick enough to react by catching him- Well, he _was_ thinking about how much Skip weighed, it wasn’t his fault- and suddenly Martin was on the floor, groaning loudly.

Probably because of the way he landed. It looked quite painful, it did.

Arthur looked around. “Skip, see? I can’t even catch you, how am I supposed to lift you?” There wasn’t anything in the hotel room that he could use to lift an airline captain and even if there was and Arthur went to get it that would mean taking his eyes off of Martin. And that was his rule. _Keep your eyes on Martin, Arthur._

“Ohh…” Arthur let out a strangled groan of his own, trying to think.

In response, Martin twitched on the floor sort of funny.

“Skip?” Arthur swallowed and crouched down, feeling Martin’s head as it jerked almost into his completely. “Skip, what’s…why’re you moving like that? That’s not safe, you’ll probably hit your head.”

Martin was really being insufferable now, not listening to Arthur. Didn’t he care that Arthur needed to be a professional and keep his eyes on him?

“I’ve got to move you, Skip, dunno if it’ll hurt but you’ve got to be on the bed when Mum gets back…” And so Arthur moved on to trying to lift Martin, very slowly and carefully.

These sort of actions usually don’t end well in Arthur’s case, but it had to be done.

It required taking his eyes off Martin for probably one minute while he closed his eyes and grunted, but he needed to do that to get the most of Martin’s body back on the bed. After a few minutes more and a few more groans from Martin, Arthur had him lying on his back this time, and surprisingly more towards the middle.

“Now if you roll over you won’t be right on the edge, Skip! And I’ll have time to push you back before you move.”

Martin didn’t say anything.

“Come on, Martin, why can’t you wake up and be normal like before? Flu’s aren’t all tha bad, I can always talk when I have one.”

Silence met Arthur’s words and he huffed. “Well fine, Skip, you can just keep on…not talking then. I’ll talk for both of us.”

He watched Martin breathe heavily for a while, cheeks red. He stood and paced around the bed, still keeping his eyes on Martin as he did. Because that was his one job, and Mum won’t know about him falling if he doesn’t say anything, so he’s okay for now.

But Skip wasn’t.

“It is the flu, right, Martin? I mean your head’s hot like a flu.” Arthur swallowed and waited for Martin to speak. “Right, you’re not talking. Sorry.”

Martin made a small noise and his eyes fluttered.

“It has to be the flu, though…you can’t fly a plane if you’re _really_ sick, and that’s all you want to do, Skip. It just _has_ to be the flu. It’s…it’s just the flu, right?”

Arthur was beginning to hate the silence that met all of his questions and theories. And suddenly his chest felt tight and heavy, and his head pounded on the inside.

“Skip, what if it…what if it’s _not_ the flu?” Arthur spoke louder now, throwing his hands up and looking worried. “What if it’s _worse_ than the flu, and you can’t fly a plane anymore, and you can’t be a captain if you can’t fly a plane! So what are you gonna do?” He took a deep breath, suddenly feeling sad for Martin. “We all know you don’t really _like_ being a man with a van…”

Martin’s body jerked once again, and Arthur made a small noise in the back of his throat. He walked over to the side of the bed Martin was closest to, and opened one of his eyelids. His eyeball rolled back. Arthur spoke deliberately and slowly.

“Skip, Skip, I know being a man with a van isn’t the best job, but if you want I’ll help, but you have to get better. Even if you’re too sick to fly a plane you can drive and I’ll carry all of your stuff for you.”

Martin’s eyelid tried to close but Arthur pried it open again, looking into his eye and speaking quietly. “You can’t get worse, Martin, you can’t. Some people get _really_ sick and then…well…well, they die. And you can’t…” Arthur swallowed audibly. Telling Martin the reason he couldn’t die would be sort of selfish and uninspiring, so he settled for a reason Martin might care about. “You can’t be a captain if you’re dead. You have to be alive to fly a plane.”

Martin didn’t give Arthur any reason to feel better after that, but his body seemed to relax a little and Arthur let go of his eyelid. He sat down.

He was keeping an eye on Martin the whole time after that, so he didn’t see how long it was before Mum and Douglas came back. Arthur double checked, and it really wasn’t too noticeable that Martin rolled off the bed entirely.

We all know how good of a liar Arthur is, though.


	12. Souls that converse

“I profoundly do not understand,” Douglas clicked his phone shut as Carolyn pulled into the parking garage of the hotel, “How his family can be so-“

“And the bloody States!” Carolyn interrupted. “Their silly rules, why did we even come-“

“He’s just stubborn.” Douglass muttered. “Too stubborn for his own good and it’s going to get him in troub-“

“He could just tell us what’s wrong, really, it isn’t that hard-“

“It _could_ be the inner-ear thing, if his meds are so low-“

“He will never hear the end of this, I will never let him forget-“

“What if it isn’t though, he wouldn’t really try to keep it a secret, would he?”

The car grew silent as Carolyn turned the key and pulled it out of the ignition. Douglas looked at her and she sucked in a breath, looking ahead.

“He would be extremely stupid if he was keeping something from us.”

Douglas laughed once, sarcastically. “Think of who we’re _talking_ about, Carolyn.”

“Yes, I know!” She pushed the car door open with her foot angrily, stepping out. “But why, _why_ would he not tell us if something was going on?”

Douglas slammed his own door shut, thinking. “Unless he doesn’t know.”

“He spent two days in a hospital, where we all know they jabbed at him with more needles than they would have to a diabetic. He would know.”

“That wasn’t a very good analogy.” Douglas rubbed his forehead and thought of Disney, his and Martin’s conversation.

_“It it a sense of foreboding or…maybe a relief?”_

Carolyn studied him carefully. “Douglas.”

“Hmm?” Douglas shook his head and headed to the garage elevator. “Look, we just wasted two hours trying to get Martin’s medical records from an American hospital, and trying to get permission from his ridiculously pompous broth-“

Carolyn interrupted his rant, following closely beside him. “Yes, I think you’re right about wasting time. Maybe his fever broke while we were gone. I’m sure Arthur-“

“Might not have killed him?” Douglas suggested in a chipper voice, and she sighed.

“Must you always be so inappropriate?”

“Only appropriately, madam.” The elevator door dinged as they headed to Martin’s and Douglas’ room.

***

“Oh! Hi, Mum! Was professional, just like you said-“

“Arthur, why is the floor wet?” Carolyn sounded appalled and Arthur blushed

“Well, you see, Martin was shaking a bit and he kept swallowing and trying to say something so I-“

“Decided to clean the carpet?” Douglas stepped to the edge of the bed facing Martin, who was just as sweaty as before and definitely more pale looking.

Arthur argued defiantly. “No! I was trying to give the water to Skip but he started hitting at me and rolling around and he smacked the glass out of my hand! And that’s why it’s on the floor. I could have yelled at him but it wasn’t very prof-“

“Oh, give it a rest, Arthur, please. Why don’t you go watch some telly and Douglas and I will watch Martin for a bit.” Carolyn set her purse on the nightstand. Arthur looked worried.

“But…you said…what about a doctor?”

“A doctor…well, we couldn’t get one. And without Martin’s medical records…”

“But _Mum_. You said!”

“Yes, I know what I said and I am saying to you now, _go watch telly_.” Carolyn’s voice wavered and Arthur sighed, retreating into the living room. Douglas watched as Carolyn pinched the bridge of her nose and sat on the edge of the bed.

“We could call one of our doctors, give them his symptoms.” He spoke quietly, pulling Martin’s covers back a bit. His chest was shining with sweat, but he was shivering.

“And have them give us a very _long_ list of possibilities? What good would it do?” She slipped her shoes off onto the carpet.

Douglas retrieved a wash rag from the bathroom, after cooling it under the faucet. He grabbed the ice bucket and brought it over to the side of the bed. “I suppose we’d need a specialist anyway.”

Carolyn raised an eyebrow. “How do you assume-”

“Carolyn,” Douglas lightly wiped Martin’s exposed skin with the rag, listening to a soft sigh escaping Martin’s lips. “Headaches, equilibrium issues, he could be seeing things…I’ll bet he needs a neurologist. Something with his brain.”

“Maybe he’s going insane.” Carolyn offered sadly, turning on the bed to look at Martin. “I feel like _I’m_ going insane.”

“Yes, well.” Douglas pulled the covers a bit more and wiped Martin’s legs down. “It would explain why he didn’t saying anything about it.”

“I was only joking!” Carolyn threw her hands up.

“Will you stop snapping at me?” Douglas chuckled. “I was only joking too!”

“Now is not the time, is it?”

“Is it ever,” Douglas muttered. He closed the curtains, and darkness lined Martin’s face.

***

Martin rolled over on the bed, listening to his bones creak.

What? Bones don’t…he opened his eyes.

“Oh!” He jumped up and pulled the covers up to his chest, blushing. But Anita only laughed from where she was standing at the side of the bed, watching him.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, darling. Or wouldn’t like to see again.” She grinned and lowered onto the mattress, slipping beneath the same blanket as Martin. He looked her over once, licking his lips.

“Th-That’s a nice…a nice nightgown.” He glanced around the hotel room, wondering why Douglas wasn’t there. And by the line of light peeking through the window, he could tell it was morning already. The light cast over Anita’s collarbone, jutting out only slightly under the thin red strap of her dress…thing. Martin cleared his throat. “Nice, yes…wait.”

She raised an eyebrow, sliding closer to him on the bed. “Why wait? I think you’re plenty awake now. I’ve been waiting.”

“Wh-You were watching me sleep?” Martin’s voice climbed up a note as he shifted his legs. “Why?”

“So I could spend the morning with you. We can do whatever you want.” Anita’s voice dropped a bit as her hand slipped under the cover and ghosting over Martin’s hip. He inhaled sharply-

“Wh-Whatever I want?” _Shut up, Martin. She just said that._

“Yes, darling. Though I know I won’t need to ask what that is.” Her fingers trailed over his skin until-

_Oh._ Martin exhaled, his head tilting back. “I…I don’t….”

“Shh…” Anita hushed him, the covers suddenly disappearing and her lips trailing over Martin’s chest, and lower.

Martin promptly shut up.

***

“You are a very attractive man.” Anita’s R’s rolled quietly into Martin’s shoulder as her fingers traced his abdomen muscles. They weren’t terribly prominent, but lifting boxes and pianos does give you a little bit of sculpting.

He chuckled nervously. “N-No, but thanks.” He felt loose-limbed, bones like jelly as he kissed her hairline out of instinct. “No one ever says things like….”

“Like I do? I know. That’s why I’m here.” Anita hummed quietly and draped her leg over Martin’s. “No one’s ever been really nice to you, have they?”

Martin thought about it. “Well that’s not quite true.” Carolyn let him keep his job after all, and Arthur’s always nice just in general-

“You don’t even get paid, Martin. What kind of pilot is that, hmm?”

Wait.

“How do you know I don’t get paid?” _And how did you know I was thinking about my job?_ Martin sat up and Anita rolled her eyes, lying on her back as he turned to look at her.

“You ask the silliest questions. I told you I have connections.”

“To who, though? I don’t understand.” Martin frowned, bad thoughts suddenly invading his mind. “Did my family send you?” Old secondary school tricks turned ugly; He suddenly remembered the one time a girl had asked him to dance only to pour punch over his head when he nodded. He shivered.

“That’s even sillier than your first question.” Anita sat up slowly, placing a chaste kiss onto Martin’s jaw line. “Martin, you understand what’s happening, don’t you?” She spoke slowly, as if he was a child. Not that he didn’t feel like one- even if he was naked.

“No…No, am I supposed to?”

“Think about it.” Anita slipped from the bed, still naked herself, and walked over to the kitchen area of the hotel room. She grabbed an apple from the counter, and a small knife, feeding herself a small slice of the fruit before walking back.

As she sat on the mattress cross-legged, skin touching Martin’s, she held out a slice for him too. He parted his lips slightly and took it in, chewing slowly and watching.

“You’re not real, are you?” He already knew this, somehow, but hearing the words from his mouth somehow solidified the idea into truth.

“Very good. But, very easy.” Anita gave him a scolding look, and another slice of apple went into his mouth. “I was real, once. Ages ago.”

“What does your name mean?” He spoke suddenly, without pause, and the question surprised him. She lit up.

“Interesting! No one’s asked that before. My name, in most translations, means _grace_. Or mercy.” She crunched an apple slice between her teeth. “Ask me something else, Martin. You’re very clever.”

But Martin’s brain was rattling away, something finally loosening up in that skull of his, trying to get out. He closed his eyes, muttering for a moment, until finally:

_He opened his eyes, smelling the disinfectant of the hospital room again before remembering where he was. He was going home today. Douglas stood at the door._

_They walked past many paintings, in the halls- Saints and children, nature and beautiful people. But one of the frames on a wall had a quote. One Martin read only once as he was passing._

“Souls that converse much with sin and wrath, may be much terrified; but souls that converse much with graceandmercy, will be much humbled.” Martin’s eyelids fluttered open as he recited the quote, feeling astonished at his own memory. Then again, this wasn’t really happening, was it?

But Anita’s smile seemed so real, her lips curving slightly as she fed another slice of the half-eaten apple into Martin’s mouth. He barely swallowed it down before she captured a kiss, lips sliding together, the crunch of _her_ apple slice and _his_ ragged breathing sounding obscene in the silence of the room.

She pulled back slowly, and suddenly Martin forgot the quote- it felt as if it was being dragged from his mind, and Anita pulled the rope.

_Crunch._ She took another bite.

“Anita, why are you here? If you’re…I-If you’re not real.” Martin watched her lips move, as the _crunch crunch_ of the apple nearly made his ears hurt. A bit of apple juice ran down to her chin. All of a sudden all he wanted to do was lick it up-

No.

“Anita-“

“You are a very handsome man, you know.” She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “It is true. It’s amazing you haven’t had a girlfriend.”

“Well, I had-“

“That doesn’t count.” She gave him a knowing look. “But, I like being here with you. Any girl would be so lucky to be yours.” Suddenly the apple was gone, but not the knife-and Anita climbed over Martin’s waist to straddle him, turning the blade in her fingers.

“I…what?” Martin kept his eyes on the blade as he was pushed back into his pillows. It glinted in the ray of sunlight through the curtains, a flash of white blinding Martin for a second. “So…you’re my girlfriend now?’

“I…” Anita mulled the question over, took her time with it in Martin’s opinion, as the knife caught the sun’s attention yet again. “I am what should have been yours long ago. I am your grace, you see. You’re being given mercy, at my hands. Well…not mine.” She chuckled. “God’s.”

“Who says I even believe in all that?” Martin almost huffed but had to remind himself that she was holding a knife. Though he still sounded a little indignant when he spoke. “If he did exist, why is this happening to me?” _Or anything,_ he thought to himself. _Why did anything happen to me? My whole life, unlucky, and to top it all off-_

“Darling, I’m here because he does exist. God doesn’t pick and choose _those_ things.” She shuddered. “He chooses who gets the better life, in the end. You deserved a better life from the beginning. So, he’s righting the wrong.”

Silence. Maritn’s head suddenly hurt.

“Does that make sense?”

He speaks quickly. “No.”

Laughter. “Oh, Martin.” Her rolled R’s gave Martin the goose pimples, her demeanor suddenly soft and relaxed as she shifted her hips over his. He didn’t feel so loose-limbed anymore.

He felt very, very tight. Wound up.

“Don’t worry, Darling. It will come to you when it’s supposed to.” She trailed her finger down Martin’s chest. She threw the knife toward the kitchen wall, and it stuck onto it loudly at the impact. Martin shivered, but not before she turned his face back to her.

And then her mouth was on his again.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for anyone sticking with me throughout this story development. I have been working with it on and off but wanted to be a few chapters ahead before i posted anything to make it a bit easier. I'm sorry for the wait. I do want to continue and finish this story, as it it my first in-depth one.


	13. Just a Flu, Then?

When Martin woke up, the first thing he felt was the static from the telly. It did that sometimes, all through Martin’s life. The static from the television had a way of making you feel like an entire flat was occupied: You would hear the TV first, but it would feel like something else. Martin always felt safer when he heard it from the hall in the early mornings- when Mum or Dad were out at work on the summer days and Simon was already working at his part time job, and Caitlin had spent the night somewhere. It was these mornings that made Martin worry when he was young, because he knew he was alone. But more often than not Simon would have left his movie playing from the night before in the setting room when he left- and so when Martin forced himself to pad down the steps so he could use the loo, he felt a little safer when he heard the telly’s grinding noise.

It was still a slight disappointment when no one was in the room, of course. But Martin learned to count his blessings early.

When he turned over today though, the second thing he noticed was a sudden strike of pain, seeming to be settling in somewhere in the middle of his brain. It was nearly blinding, and Martin tried to blink the dark spots from the edges of his vision away.

This didn’t work out so well though, and just as the view of his small hotel room and the staticy telly materialized, his eyes slid shut again. The pain worsened, and Martin willed himself to get up and get some water.

For some reason though, he couldn’t move. That was the third thing he noticed.

 _Come on,_ Martin growled to himself in his head, _you can’t just-_

“Martin?” Douglas’ voice was somewhere to Martin’s left, by the window. Martin inhaled slowly and tried to move, but his body didn’t comply. “Martin, if you’re awake, say something. Make a sound, at least.” Douglas’ voice came closer.

 _I’m awake, don’t get your knickers in a twist._ Martin sighed in his mind and counted to ten before trying to move again. Nothing. He tried to open his mouth and say something.

He heard Carolyn murmur something at the foot of the bed. Douglas shifting to his left. Martin took deep breaths in and out, counting to ten and starting over repeatedly.

And suddenly, the pain was gone. The weights on his muscles were lifted and Martin’s eyes fluttered open again. He moved slightly on the bed, turning his head.

Douglas’ face was lined with concern. Martin had been seeing a lot of that lately, especially on Friday when they were on that train-

Martin blinked and spoke the first thing on his mind. “Wh…What day’s it?”

“Monday evening. Your fever broke yesterday, so you’ve been sleeping on and off since then.” Douglas spoke slowly, watching him. Carolyn tapped Martin’s foot once with her hand.

“Feeling better, are we? Took long enough. You were thrashing about like a child, right in the middle of it.” She sounded only slightly annoyed, and Martin tried to ignore it.

 _Monday evening?_ That’s…that’s three full days. He couldn’t remember anything from the last three days except when he woke up the one time. And Anita, of course. She’ was very hard to forget.

Martin sat up slowly, feeling a rush to his head. “I…I’ve really been out all this time?” He rubbed his eyes with the palm of one hand, then looked around. Arthur was sleeping on the sofa, one hand dangling off the edge. “I barely remember, I-“

“Oh, we know. You weren’t making any sense to us either.” Carolyn brought some water over to him which Martin sipped slowly. “We wanted to do more, but since we weren’t exactly sure what the hell is-“

Douglas cut her off before Martin could even comprehend anything she said. “Not now, Carolyn. He’s just woken up, for goodness sake. Let the boy have a drink.” He drummed his fingers on the night stand, watching Martin curiously. Martin shifted uncomfortably under the gaze, until he finally sighed.

“What, Douglas?”

Douglas shrugged. “I’m just looking at you Martin, no need to make a fuss.” His demeanor changed and he leaned forward, closer to Martin. “How are you feeling?”

 _Like I’ve been hit by a bus,_ Martin thought, but took another drink before answering. “I feel fine. Just a bit tired.” He turned so his feet could touch the ground, slowly standing up. His legs felt like jelly as he kept the thin sheet from the bed- some parts still damp from sweat- over his lower body. “Must’ve had a flu or something, I can’t remember the last time I-“

He was cut short when he tripped over the sheet- well that’s what he thought happened anyway- and suddenly he was headed for the ground. But Douglas grabbed hold of Martin’s arms quickly, pulling him upright. The fast movement made Martin’s head spin and he swayed, leaning back against Douglas.

Douglas sighed. “Just a flu, then?”

Martin blinked slowly as his vision refocused, finally pulling away. “Yes, Douglas. Just a flu. Add that to the…inner-ear thing, anyone would be out of sorts, wouldn’t they? I’m just lucky it didn’t interfere with our flying time, or any jobs at home.” He gathered the sheet up off the floor to cover himself and headed toward the bathroom, locking the door behind him once he was in. The shower started and Carolyn sighed heavily.

“Douglas, he is out of his right mind if he thinks we’re going to believe that rubbish. A flu! And his inner-ear? He really thinks we don’t have a right to know anything more than that? ” She picked up a few things from the floor, dropping them into a pile by the bed.

Douglas was quiet, back to drumming his fingers. He looked thoughtful, if not a bit far away. Carolyn clapped her hands once together, making him jump. “Hello! Ignoring me, are you?”

“Ah…no.” Douglas rubbed his forehead. “I’m just wondering what we should do next, is all.”

“I hardly think we have any options. He’s not saying anything and as we’ve already proven to ourselves, we can’t do much on our own. Maybe we should just let it be for the moment.” Carolyn went to the sofa and gently nudged Arthur to wake him, informing him of Martin’s condition.

Douglas stretched in the chair and watched the bathroom door.

***

When Martin came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, the room was silent. _They must have turned the television off before they left_ , he thought. Maybe they decided to go to a park now that he was awake and no longer bothering them.

_“I’m just lucky it didn’t interfere with our flying time, or any jobs at home.”_

Martin sighed, suddenly feeling guilty. All three of them were in the small hotel room (which Douglas _had_ pad for), waiting for Martin to wake up. A few glances around the room told him that they had more or less taken care of him- there were takeout containers on the small coffee table, and used mugs. There was a damp rag on the nightstand, and if Martin thought hard enough, he could _sort of_ remember someone wiping the sweat from his forehead, and telling him to go back to sleep.

Martin groaned and ran a hand through his wet hair. His illness might not have interfered with their flight home, or any moving jobs- but it _did_ interfere with everyone else’s vacation. And so far, most of the time Martin’s just either been complaining, hallucinating, or in a bloody hospital of all places. It’s no wonder everyone left. They deserved to enjoy their time here too, didn’t they?

He changed into one of the few casual outfits he brought in his suitcase and started cleaned up a bit. His movements were slow and heavy, until he nearly jumped when the door to the room opened- and Arthur all but tackled him right then and there, excitement leaking out as if Artur could barely contain himself. “Skip, I’m so glad you’re better!”

Martin blinked and grunted. “Ah-Hello, Arthur. Wh…What are you doing here? Not with your mum?”

“Oh, I accidentally dropped my tray at the breakfast so Mum told me to come back here and check on you! They’re getting you some breakfast too.” Arthur grinned and hugged Martin tightly once more before letting go. “How’re you feeling, Skip? You look a little better, I think.”

Martin nods. “I’m fine, Arthur. Erm, thank you.” So they hadn’t left after all. Not that Martin could even think about eating anything right now, but it was nice all the same of Carolyn and Douglas to get food for him.

Arthur shifted. “Er, Skip, I was helping with the watching of you when you were sick and you were doing a lot of groaning and carrying on…”

“Oh?” Martin’s cheeks tinged pink. “W-Was I? I was having the strangest dreams, actually, I barely remember them though-“ Although that part wasn’t exactly true, because he remembers every little detail about Anita’s second “visit”.

“Oh I hate that! Especially when it’s a good dream and you wake up right as something brilliant’s about to happen, and the longer you’re awake the less you remember?” Arthur nods in understand. “That’s the worst, Skip, because your brain’s probably trying to make you happy while you’re asleep but your body probably is…I dunno, stressed or something. Or it knows you’ve slept past the alarm!”

Martin chuckled and binned the food containers from the table. “I suppose that’s probably right, isn’t it? People’s bodies are weird that way. Trying to do the best they can for you.” _Most of the time, anyway._ “Well, erm, listen Arthur…I wanted to…well, thank you for helping. When I was sick. I’m sure there were plenty of things you’d rather do than watch over me.”

“Well I could think of a few things, but it would be rude to list them right off the bat.” Douglas’ voice cut in as he and Carolyn came into the room with a plate of eggs, sausage, toast and an apple. They set it on the table with a glass of orange juice. “Here we are. Your breakfast.”

Martin blinked, ignoring the sarcastic remark as he took in the large amount of food on the plate. His stomach grumbled at the sight, and he suddenly realized how hungry he was. When had he last eaten? “You didn’t have to bring all that for me. How did you even manage to sneak it away? Aren’t those free breakfasts for people who are actually in the room?”

Carolyn waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, they can’t be bothered to watch us every minute. And they saw Arthur leaving anyway, probably thought it was for him. Sit and eat, now.” She half-shoved Martin onto the sofa, handing him a fork. “I want all of it gone. You look more peckish than you did two days ago, and that’s saying something.”

Martin nibbled at the toast first, but as his hunger took over, he started enjoying the rest of the items on the plate. By the time Douglas had taken a quick shower and come out in new clothes, Martin had finished everything but the apple (which he was still working on). He tried not to think of Anita as he bit into it, but his cheeks felt a bit warm anyway.

“That’s better.” Carolyn smiled a bit as she threw the plate away. Martin wasn’t used to this side of Carolyn. He couldn’t tell if it was endearing or just weird.

With a small breath Martin decided to speak on his earlier words. “I...I know I said me falling ill now was more convenient, b-but I hope you didn’t…” He sighed and spoke quickly. “I just wanted to thank you. I didn’t mean to wreck our vacation and it was more than kind of you to help out-”

“Oh shut up, Martin.” Douglas rolled his eyes as he checked his hair in the mirror. “It’s not as if we could get anywhere without you anyway, seeing as you’re the supreme commander to end all other supreme commanders.”

Arthur laughed just then, but Martin wasn’t sure if it was at Douglas or the TV. Carolyn was next to dismiss the apology. “We’re just glad you’re better now. Hopefully you’re right about that flu. It really was rather nasty as we could see.” Martin blushed then and bit into the apple again, wiping some juice away before it dribbled down his chin.

Arthur turned the TV off then, looking hopeful. “Does this mean we can go to a park today? We don’t have that much longer in Florida and, well no offense Skip because I’m really glad you’re better now,” he looked a bit guilty as he said this, “But we haven’t been able to do much and who knows when-“

“Well I think a park is a good idea. “Martin interrupted him. “I mean I can’t be the reason we didn’t see Animal Kingdom or anything.” He stole a look at Douglas and Carolyn, whose worried looks that told Martin he needed to be a better actor than that. “I’m feeling loads better and now that I’ve eaten I’ve got more energy too.”

Carolyn sighed. “Martin, that is very noble of you, but I don’t think we should be rushing into any…strenuous activities just yet.” Douglas nodded as she spoke, which provoked a disappointed sigh out of Arthur.

Martin shifted on his feet. “I-I understand, but really Carolyn. I think all of the sleep I had did me a world of good. And I know you don’t want all the money you and Douglas spent on our mini vacation to go to waste…”

Douglas sighed and Carolyn rolled her eyes. “I can see I’m not going to get anywhere with you two. Fine, fine. But _only_ because it’s not supposed to be too warm today. Martin, you better tell us the _second_ you feel off. At all. I mean it, and you won’t be alone for one second either. I’ll make Douglas accompany you to the loo if I think something’s up-“

“Now while I am all for keeping Martin in good health Carolyn,” Douglas interrupted her, “I don’t really think that’s necess-“

“Hush Douglas, no witty remarks out of you. If anything else I need Martin to be healthy by this weekend so we can fly home in four pieces-One piece for each body on that plane, mind you. So yes, Douglas, you will escort Martin to the restroom if it means I have a capable captain to fly by Sunday.”

“Aww, Sunday?” Arthur whined. “That’s just two more days isn’t it?”  
  
“Thrilling that you figured it out all by yourself, Arthur.” Douglas rolled his eyes. “Well I suppose if I’ve shared a _bed_ with the captain than surely I can watch guard while he relieves himself. Right, Martin?” He looked over at Martin who was gnawing a hangnail, deep in thought.

“Lovely, we’ve already lost him.” Carolyn grabbed Arthur’s backpack and thrusted it at him. “Martin, pay attention!”

“What? Oh. Right, yes, fine.” Martin jumped into action, grabbing his phone and slipping his feet into sandals.

“And off we go,” Douglas said as he shut the door behind them.


	14. An Unexpected Guest

He hadn’t seen Anita in a full week now. Martin was the tiniest hopeful for this, because coupled with less headaches and a general feeling of “this isn’t so bad”, he felt this maybe meant he was doing all right (for once) since they left for Florida. He didn’t have any episodes on the flight home and was even able to enjoy two full days of the amusement parks and lovely meals Orlando had to offer. Even Douglas commented on Martin’s “only slight paleness” and he won the word game, too. Though Martin was slightly suspicious that was on purpose, he found he didn’t mind as much.

And certainly not now, when they had some time off…

He loved flying, he really did. Martin was only good at a few things-well, no. He really was only good at flying, wasn’t he? And that’s alright because he loved doing it more than anything else. He was okay at moving boxes but it was sticky and heavy and in the end, unsatisfying. The money made it bearable but the _feeling_ made it less so. So there was the flights he looked forward to, even with the crabby passengers and the loss of the cheese tray every other day or even the occasional fight in customs, where Martin was sure he had told Douglas which terminal they were in but of course in the end he was wrong, always wrong.

But then he sat in the chair, and GERTI’s engine roared to life. And that meant Martin was home. If only for a few hours.

This being the only thing in life Martin could ever be so passionate about it would seem that he’d be disappointed in the break of schedule. Especially after he’d been ill for so long, and it’d been a week and a day between the last two flights he made. It did feel…off, not flying so much in the span of two weeks. It felt unreal, actually.

Not the most unreal Martin’s felt recently, though.

But as he and Douglas went through the landing checklist, and Martin made sure to fill out his flight log afterwards so he wouldn’t forget, he found himself relieved when Carolyn announced that they were, in fact, all on standby until further notice. Or at least until when they were due back to pick their client up from Miami once more in two and a half weeks.

If anything, Martin thought, this would be good for business. He tried not to focus on the fact that (since he knew he’d be gone for so long) he didn’t do any shopping before he left, but this admission wasn’t so bad. He had to stop on the way home for the essentials (bread and cheese for sandwiches-there was probably some margarine in the fridge from the students so he could do with that, and there’d be milk for tea since he only uses a dash, but tea as well, and he should probably get at least one chicken breast. He could make that last) but that thought wasn’t as disheartening as he assumed, since he was really able to restrain himself from buying any souvenirs from the shops at Disney.

Douglas had against Martin’s protests bought him a Mickey Mouse pen (“So we can all enjoy the fun of Disney while doing boring paperwork,” was his excuse, but Martin was sure he’d caught Douglas watching him admire the clearance section item, ultimately deciding to pocket his cash) but since Martin never really had a souvenir from anywhere else, he finally just decided to thank Douglas for the three dollar item. And since Martin only let himself take out a small amount of cash for conversion anyway, and since he was travelling when he had to go to hospital and wasn’t charged for his prescriptions (although to be honest, why couldn’t America be like that for its own citizens as well? Martin didn’t want to have to think about _paying_ for his healthcare), he was able to save a bit more in his account than he had planned on. So far he had paid for a few meals on the trip (less than ten, thanks to the breakfast buffets at the hotel, and he could stretch his cash far on one meal,), the drinks from the bar, and a travel supply of Tylenol to go with his coffee from the airport when they left.

So now he probably had plenty for shopping, maybe even enough to buy cans of broth (cheaper than soup) and then still have leftover to put into his savings. And with the time off, he could do some moving jobs. It wasn’t betrayal of GERTI, just a temporary replacement so he might be able to get his account back to where it was before they left for Florida. He did have one job on standby that he decided to call in on, just to make sure they hadn’t needed him while he was gone and called someone else.

“Oh, what good timing you have,” Ms. Roberts sniffled into the phone, “My mother passed on two days ago, so I’ll be needing her things moved. It’s a two story flat…” She trailed off into a description of the things she wanted to keep and the few things “You can do whatever you want with them, sell them or leave ‘em on the curb…I hated that dresser anyway.”

Martin was sure to apologize for Mrs. Roberts’ passing, but he had no shame to admit (to himself only, of course) that thanks to that, he might get out ahead this week.

And while the dresser was too large for his own room, he knew Adam from this rotation of students was finishing his semester up and moving in with his girlfriend soon, so he was able to pawn it along with a small desk with a wobbly leg off. Both for 50 pounds, but Martin was ecstatic. He kept a fiver for his coffee run before whenever his next flight would be, stuffed twenty into the emergency cash sock (now he had 27, but who’s complaining?) then went into his savings for his part of the rent next month.

So now he was right where he started, but now with a small sense of security to keep him afloat. And with one more job this weekend to boot, thanks to Ms. Roberts’ friend Essie with a closing bookshop. By Sunday he had emerged with 80 pounds for two afternoons of labor, a bruised side and a sprained wrist and _ten_ free books for his trouble (and his kindness, Essie had insisted).  All in all Martin felt pretty good by the end of the weekend, so with his new cash he decided to buy just one pack of cigarettes from the petrol station. He felt he deserved it anyway, and since he barely did smoke he’d have plenty left over to last. It was only an occasional thing, him smoking. On late nights when he walked home from the corner café with a book in his hand, or on rainy nights when he can’t bear the thought of being holed up in the attic for the evening.

It was two days later when Martin was walking home, cigarette hanging from between his lips, when it happened.

At first he didn’t even _see_ her. A slight headache was just starting to nag at the middle of Martin’s head, so he figured he would head home and drink some coffee. It was probably the lack of caffeine, he thought. Anita was getting out of the cab in front of the flat by the time he got there, and Martin probably wouldn’t have even turned his head if she hadn’t have called his name. He was just about to jump onto the first step of the stoop when her accent stopped him in his tracks and turn around.

“Martin, Darling!” Anita was wearing a short black dress with a small cardigan, red heels, and she had a big red bag hanging off her arm. Her sunhat was probably too big for her head but Martin supposed this was what fashion was supposed to look like. The last girl he went to dinner with wore a sundress and sandals, with plaits in her hair, and suddenly Martin forgot what her name was. He also forgot that at the time the sun wasn’t even out, so he never even thought about why Anita would be wearing a sunhat of all things. But she did come from Florida, didn’t she? How did Martin even get onto this train of thought? He should be saying something to Anita, shouldn’t he (her legs looked newly tanned since he last saw her, oh, her top half too- her cleavage was bronzed and almost sparkling, peeking out from the cardigan-)p>

But it wasn’t even sunny. And Martin wasn’t saying anything to her; he was only standing on the steps in front of his flat as he looked her over, cigarette still dangling from his mouth. She wasn’t really standing there, was she? No, she wasn’t. No one else was on the street either, but…

“H-Hi,” Martin finally managed to say, and the cigarette fell out of his mouth. Damn.

Anita laughed.

“Darling, no need to be so surprised. Did you think I wouldn’t find you at home?”

A dull pain throbbed in Martin’s forehead. “I...I.” He licked his lips.” Hi.”

Anita slammed the taxi door shut and stepped up to him. She tilted her head back a bit so he could see her eyes underneath the brim of the hat, and since Martin was a step higher than her he was just a little bit taller. He could see hi reflection in the shades of her sunglasses. Anita grinned. “Aren’t you going to kiss me hello?”

Martin glanced around and leaned over to peck her cheek, blushing when he pulled back. “Wh…what are you doing here?”

“Well I couldn’t let you enjoy yourself for too long without me, darling,” Anita pulled a compact mirror from the bust of her dress and looked into it. “Come now, invite me inside so I can see your room.”

“O-Oh, I’m not sure that’s…” Martin swayed a bit, feeling warm all of a sudden. She took his hand and led him to the front door.

“We’ll sit down and have a drink first, then you’ll feel better about it.”

Martin didn’t have much in the flat to drink as far as he knew, and with the way Anita was he was sure he didn’t have anything she would want. But who could argue with her? Martin hadn’t been able to so far, now with her demanding presence. He always felt like he had to succumb to her- not that it was a bad thing, per se. It just meant he was used to…following what she said. So Martin pulled his key out and unlocked the door, pushing it open. She laced her fingers with his and followed him inside, while Martin tried to figure out what he was going to do.


	15. A Bloody Recluse

Thankfully, the students were all home or on vacation for break, so the flat was quiet. Down the hall to the right was Martin’s open kitchen, very small with a corner nook table. He gestured to it with his free hand and looked at Anita. “Ah…do you…want to sit?”

Anita laughed lightly and pulled her hand away from Martin’s, sitting down. She set her large bag on the table and Martin went straight for the cupboards to see if he had anything edible to offer her, or a drink. He hoped the students might have left even just a little bit of wine or whisky left, but with the price of good alcohol he wasn’t surprised to see that the Lazy Susan was almost completely bare, save for one biscuit box past its expiration date. He sighed and stared at the cupboard anyway, silently willing something else to appear. But when has Martin ever been that lucky?

Anita must have been reading his mind (rather, she must have planned ahead for this visit) because she stood and pulled a large bottle of wine out from her bag. Pinot grigio, and a good brand (as far as Martin could tell, anyway). When she set it on the table Martin turned around to see it, blinking.

“You…”

“Brought wine, yes.” Anita nodded and moved to the cupboard, opening a top one and pulling down two wine glasses. “I know it’s not the Amaretto Sour you enjoyed at the hotel, but this will do just as nicely, yes?

Martin didn’t know what to say. Why would Anita come over just to drink?

Well...

Why would she come at all?

“Anita, I-“

“Ah ah, you cannot refuse a guest when she has bought _wine_ for you. It would be very rude.” She tutted and opened a drawer, pulling the corkscrew out. How did she even know where…

“And I came all the way here to see you, Martin. The very least you could do is have a drink with me. You deserve it, with all the hard work you’ve been doing.” Anita smiled at him and tipped the bottle over once it was open, pouring out their drinks. Both glasses were three-quarters full now. Martin never usually drank more than a third of a glass, and not without eating, either. He wasn’t exactly a heavyweight in the drinking department, and with his small frame a few drinks could get him pretty far gone. As he’d proven quite recently at the hotel.

But he had the feeling again. Anita’s dominance was obviously in the atmosphere, and he couldn’t exactly refuse her. She did already pay for the bottle, too.

“What the hell,” He decided aloud with a nervous laugh. He grabbed the glass closest to him on the counter.

Anita hummed and sat down at the table. “Come sit and tell me about your week.” She patted the chair next to hers and Martin sat down. “Have you been doing moving jobs this whole time?”

Martin ignored the thought reminding him that he never told her about his van. You weren’t supposed to question things with her anyway, and what did he care? The last time he sat down with a bottle of wine just to talk it was with his parents. And that certainly didn’t end well. He shifted and took a small sip of the wine. It was…heavy. It tasted full in his mouth, and using what he learned about drinking wine from his mother he waited a minute before swallowing it down and speaking. “I had a few jobs this week, but then I relaxed. Cleaned my…attic up.” He didn’t want to say room, even though basically that’s what it amounted to.

“So much work on your time off. I came just in time, then.” Anita had a knowing smile, watching him as she worked through her wine and he talked about his jobs. It was easy to talk to her, and he found himself rambling on. Martin paused to take another small sip from his glass and Anita giggled. “Martin, don’t be slow. I’ve already had most of my glass.”

“I don’t want to drink all of the wine you bought,” Martin argued weakly, though even if he wanted to (the idea was growing to be a more pleasant thought now, not that he would admit it) he didn’t think he’d be able to drink a lot without looking sloppy. He didn’t even know what the whole point of this was, actually. Did Anita really travel just to do this? Didn’t she have any better plans? And the more Martin thought about that, the more his head hurt. He remembered what she knew about him, about the hospital visit and what he told Douglas on the train ride. Maybe she did have plans. Maybe he just wasn’t supposed to know about them.

In answer to Martin’s argument Anita topped his glass of and pushed it lightly in his direction. “Drink,” She ordered with a quick wave of her hand. “The night is coming and we have to enjoy it.”

Martin couldn’t really argue with her, so he downed a large gulp of the wine, and then another. Anita clapped and topped him off again. “Now tell me about things.”

“What things?” Martin frowned. “There’s not really much else to say.”

Anita laughed and Martin smiled a bit. It was nice, making someone laugh. Her laugh filled the room and he was reminded of the first night they met. She set her glass down. “Any things! You live here in this beautiful area, what do you like to do here?”

Martin blinked and took another drink as he thought. He didn’t do much that indulged his interests, not outside GERTI anyway. He didn’t really _have_ many interests outside of flying. The normal things, maybe: A film, some telly…

“I went to the air museum a few weeks ago. Just before we left for Florida.” It sounded pathetic, really, and Martin felt a blush form in his cheeks. Maybe it was just the wine.

“Well, what about at home? How do you relax here, when you’re not moving boxes or flying your plane?” Anita watched him thoughtfully.

Martin wrinkled his nose. “I suppose I just like to lie in and read a good book…and if the students aren’t here I’ll use the television.” Though that wasn’t very often, he thought, and he couldn’t think of any recent shows he would have any insight on. “And then…there’s the simulator.”

“Simulator? What is a…what is it simulating?” Anita blinked and leaned forward, taking another drink.

“Well it’s a…a flight simulator. I use it to practice more…dangerous situations that might happen during flights…” God, he was sounding more and more pathetic with each word. He’s just a bloody recluse with a glorified flight toy and a moving van that rarely works the way it’s supposed to. He practices every other day for a job that doesn’t even pay him, for God’s sake. Hell, Martin can barely afford to keep the van up for inspection for a job that barely pays for the food he barely gets to eat, in this flat that he rents one room from, _barely_ , and he-

“Shh, shh.” Anita’s finger pressed onto Martin’s lip and he blinked, suddenly realizing that he had said all of that aloud. Oh _God_. “Martin, don’t get so upset. Look at you.” Anita peeled his fingers from the table that he had a tight grip on, and handed him his glass again. He took a large drink, trying to steady his hands. “I think your simulator sounds very fun, actually.”

“What?” Martin huffs out a laugh, “No, it’s not very interesting at all. Not for a normal person, anyway. It’s only interesting for people like me, who actually enjoy-“

“Martin.” Anita spoke firmly and gestured to his glass, signaling for him to take another drink. He complied. “If you enjoy it, then it’s enjoyable. And interesting. You must need the relief from your stress, no?”

Martin said nothing to this, finishing off his glass and grabbing for the wine bottle on his own accord this time. He refilled it, almost all the way.

“Besides,” Anita continued as she took the bottle from Martin to pour herself some more, “Being drunk makes _everything_ more enjoyable. Don’t you think?”

“I’m not drunk.” Martin frowned at her and she laughed loudly, obviously amused at his offense to the implication.

“No,” she said and took another drink, “Not yet you aren’t.”


	16. I Should Watch the Professional Do it First

It was like Anita lived there.

She navigated the skinny hallway of the flat easily, with steady balance. This was saying a lot, considering the fact that her and Martin had completely emptied the bottle of pinot she brought, and when she pulled out two of those mini-bottles of whisky from her bag (which by now Martin had to wonder if it was made of magic since she had so many _things_ in there- pictures of them he doesn’t even remember taking the first night, one of his train cards that must have fallen out of his pocket, an extra pair of her shoes) they had decided to drink those too. Because it was a fantastically good idea. Of course it was.

As was letting Anita come into the flat.

“Martin, it’s very warm in here. Is it always this warm?” She slipped out of her heels and gently kicked them across the carpeted floor to where her hat and sunglasses had long been abandoned.

Martin hiccupped and hummed, his back pressed against the wall as he tried to untie his own trainers by lifting his left foot over his right knee. It wasn’t going very well and he wobbled a bit. “Mm…no, ‘S usually cold actually. Well in the winter I mean. But it’s warm. Right now, yeah.” He sighed and decided to push his shoes off, and they were kicked over by Anita’s small pile of things.

Anita had most of her cardigan pulled from her shoulders, but was struggling with getting it down her arms. She made a frustrated grunt and Martin pushed himself from the wall to help. She needed help, after all. “Here…” He tugged at the cardigan and it slid off the rest of the way.

“That was nice of you, Martin.” Anita sighed in relief once it was off and tossed it over the arm of the sofa. “Unless you just wanted to help me get undressed.” She turned to face him.

Martin half-shrugged, waving his hand. “N-No, was just…I mean, I wouldn’t complain if you…if that’s what you were trying to do.” He blinked. “Oh, that was a bit rude, wasn’t it?” Suddenly he found himself in a fit of giggles and he couldn’t stop. “I’m not usually that bold, you know.” He giggled again and wiped his eyes.

“I know you’re not.” Anita seemed amused by Martin’s _boldness_ and stepped closer to him, tracing her index finger along the collar of his cotton shirt. “I liked it, though. What you said. Well,” She grinned and stretched up to kiss the underside of Martin’s jaw, “What you meant.”

“Wh-What was it I said again?” His skin felt like fire, even through his clothes, wherever she touched. It was amazing. At this point he didn’t care if it was the alcohol or just her. “Oh, the clothes thing. Right.” He laughed lightly.

“Mhm.” Anita nodded and patted Martin’s side. “You still haven’t shown me the simulator yet. Is it in your room? I haven’t seen that yet either.”

Martin shifted and blushed brightly. “Y-Yes, it’s in…my room, yeah. Upstairs.”

Anita smiled warmly and took Martin’s wrist, guiding him up the steps. It took them a few minutes; Anita’s lack of heels should have covered for her stability but her tipsiness made walking difficult. And Martin was already clumsy enough without his alcohol content added into the mix. When they made it to into the attic he fumbled with the pull-string on his small lamp. It dimly lit the room and you could see the dust particles moving about in the air under the lamp shade. Martin made a mental mote to clean up more often between flights. If Anita was planning on making more visits it needed to be tidier.

Of course, Martin’s next thought was a small, nagging reminder of what Anita’s visit meant. Normally this would mean he’d get jumpy- curious, inquisitive even. But with his head feeling this light and Anita stepping over the threshold into his room, all Martin could do was give a lopsided smile and gesture around. The movement almost made him fall. “Well…here it is.”

“It’s nice.” Anita nodded as she looked around the small space. She ran a finger over the small bookshelf he had, leaning over to inspect the stacks of books. “You don’t spend a lot of time in here, hmm? Not with such a demanding hobby?”

Martin frowned and shifted. Anita knew how sensitive the “job-versus-hobby” subject was for him. “Between flying and moving boxes…no, not a lot of time.” He felt his cheeks flush again, not sure whether it was the alcohol or the discussion.

“Not enough.” Anita shook her head and picked a book up, flipping it over. “I’m glad we can spend some time in here, Martin. It’s a nice room.”

“Sure.” Martin shrugged and moved over to sit on the hard floor, cross-legged in front of the object they decidedly ignored up until now but was the most noticeable one in the room.

The flight simulator was just a video game, but the small setup Martin made for it suggested it was an actual machine built for its purpose (as some pilots admitted to using it for, anyway): practicing flight. It was an old version, of course- Martin didn’t own one new thing, not even his phone. But once he tried one of the newer softwares and he had to tell himself he liked his own better. He’d mostly convinced himself it wasn’t just to make him feel better, either. His version of the game at least had decent graphics and made a point to randomize emergency situation reenactments so you weren’t prepared for them all of the time.

He didn’t have a chair; on the mornings he decided he’d spend all day practicing (not playing) he would just pull his small bed over and sit on it, feet planted against the wood floor stiffly in an attempt to keep himself and the bed in place. He didn’t think he had enough coordination to move the bed right now, though, so he and Anita would just have to make do.

Anita noticed the low whirr of the game system as Martin clicked it on and moved over to him, sitting on his left with her legs bent beneath her. She watched as he set up the hand controls and when the screen went a blue-ish tint, restarted the game after blowing some dust from the plug.

“You play this a lot?” Anita wiggled her toes and Martin just nodded. He didn’t trust his voice just yet, not after inhaling Anita’s faint perfume and feeling her body heat next to him. She _was_ warm. Or maybe he was.

“O­-h uhm, yeah…I like it though. It’s not because I’m a rubbish pilot or anything.” He didn’t want to sound crass but this much he knew. He was very good at his job. Not his hobby.

“Of course not!” Anita laughed and touched Martin’s knee lightly, making him shiver. He could feel her warmth through his jeans and it sent a spike of pleasure up his thigh. He relaxed slightly.

“Erm…do you want to try it out before me?” He kept his eyes averted from her gaze and clicked through the menu with the joystick in his hand.

Anita shook her head, her long hair brushing against his shoulder lightly. “I think I should watch the professional do it first.” Her voice was lowered now, but it sounded loud in the quiet attic.

Martin swallowed and nodded, starting his first game of the night. “Ah, right.”

***

“It’s very small.” Martin murmured against her lips, slurring a bit.

“Martin, we are not doing this on the floor.” Anita laughed.

“No, I-“ Martin blushed and shook his head. Were they even doing anything? “I’m not saying…I’m just warning you. It’s a twin bed-“

Anita pulled away and helped him up, giving him a deep kiss to slow his words down. “Lucky for us, we’re both fairly small.” She climbed onto the bed in question, lying back and propping one knee up. She tugged at his flattening pillow and wiggled a bit, tilting her head back. “Come Martin, it’s getting late.”

Martin watched her as she moved and flexed his fingers. Suddenly the thought from before came into his mind and he found himself asking the question before her could stop himself. “Why did you come to visit me?”

“Martin.” Anita sighed and waved a hand before sliding it down her side and to the bottom hem of her dress. “Can’t you just learn to enjoy yourself? That’s why I’m here. To…give you a good time.”

Martin blinked as the pair of red underwear hit the floor in front of his feet. He swallowed thickly.

“Martin, come over here. I don’t want to wait all night.”

“R-Right.” Martin pulled his shirt over his head.


	17. One Job Won't Kill Me

Martin groaned as the ray of sunlight hit his eyelids, causing a burst of color to bloom beneath them. He squeezed his eyes shut; He could still _see_ it of course, the stars of red, blue and green as the warmth washed over his skin. He shrugged his blanket down, exposing himself to the light.

He was only vaguely aware of how much smaller his bed felt this morning. There was something pressed against his back that was very warm.

And very naked.

Martin blinked slowly as some flashes of memories coursed through his mind of the night before: Anita pulling the wine bottle out of her bag and Martin helping her take her cardigan off; Beating her at the simulation game even though he could barely fly a plane through the last winter storm this year, let alone sit up straight.

She was still there, one arm wrapped against his waist and a warm cheek pressed into his shoulder blade. Martin’s cheeks flushed as he remembered why he (why _they_ ) were naked: It happened again. All that time passed, Martin’s flight back and his time off from flying. And Anita just…showed up.

Took over.

Not that he minded it at the moment. Anita taking control usually meant Martin enjoyed himself in the end. Well, throughout the whole thing. Sex was never something he had a fair trade in before. Add it to the list of things he knew about minimally: What worked, what didn’t, and that usually he was just better off fending for himself instead attempting it with someone else. He got used to that part eventually. Girls stopped calling him back and rather than keep trying, he had to focus on better and more important things. Becoming a pilot. Getting a job as a pilot and keeping that job. Working by using his van for another job so he could afford to be a pilot at said other job that didn’t pay him ( _Couldn’t_ , Martin reminded himself, Carolyn couldn’t pay him. It wasn’t personal. He was just the unlucky one, again).

So thanks to Anita, Martin has learned quite a few new things about the world of sex: This worked, this didn’t, and he could actually do quite well for others if he was sure of himself. A variety of things happened for him during her visits and he was happy to think that this might not just be a ruse for what he knew was eventually coming.

But…never mind that, Martin reminded himself. It wasn’t important to focus on those things.

He let himself doze for another twenty minutes before Anita’s hand slid up his abdomen and to his chest, stroking the fine hairs there. Her voice was thick from sleep. “Good morning.”

Martin grinned sleepily and shifted awkwardly, turning while he kept hold of her so she wouldn’t move too close to the edge of the small bed. He drank the sight of her in without trying to make it obvious. Her lipstick was smudged and faded, her dark hair mussed and framing her face. There was a small mark of a love bite on her collarbone- Martin resisted the urge to smirk at the memory of what happened there, and the noise she made. Instead he wiped his thumb under her eye, smearing away a dark mark from her eyeliner. She must have rubbed it in her sleep.

She looked debauched. And still perfect.

“Hullo.” Martin’s own voice sounded strange to him, gruff and deep. He cleared his throat. “Did you…sleep alright? I know the bed is…”

He trailed off and Anita laughed quietly. “I like being in your bed. I was quite comfortable.” She gave him a lingering kiss and Martin used the advantage of holding her to slide his fingers around her hip, squeezing slightly. Their moving lips sounded loud in the quiet room-

Until Martin’s phone rang in his trouser pocket on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Before he could debate on how rude it would be to pull away from the kiss, Anita did it for him. He took it as silent encouragement to lean up, awkwardly again, and reach over the end of the bed to stretch his fingers far enough for the trousers. After a few attempts he tugged the phone from his pocket.

It wasn’t a number he’d ever seen before, so it wasn’t a surprise that the caller wanted him to do a moving job. And of course as luck would have it, it was a last minute one.

“Two o’clock? But it’s…no, that’s fine.” Martin scrambled out of bed to write the address down on a pad of paper. “No, it’s just me. That’s okay, I do most of the jobs myself.” A two floor job, wonderful. “O-Oh, you’ll be working? Key under the…Yes that’s fine, should I-Okay.“ He blinked when the caller hung up and tossed his phone back onto the pile of clothes on the floor.

Anita grinned from the bed, propped up on one elbow. “That is a very nice view.” She looked Martin up and down.

He blushed deeply and nudged her over on the bed before climbing back in under the covers. “I hope you don’t mind, I could really use the money...” He glanced at the clock.

“It’s alright. I have a few errands to run today. Maybe I can come see you in the evening?” Anita nods. “Although I don’t know why you are still working that moving job now. Wouldn’t it be nice to quit?”

Martin shifted and looked at her. “I…I want to. And there’s not a…” _Deadline_ , he almost said before he stopped himself. He didn’t want to think about these things, remember? “Timeline. I’d rather just…keep going.”

“Martin, the time for that has passed.” Anita touched his hip. “You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

“I thought it was plainly evident I was enjoying myself. Last night, anyway.” Martin smirked despite himself, earning a laugh from Anita. “And besides, I still need money. One job won’t…kill me.”

Anita raised an eyebrow. “If you say so, Captain Crieff.” She leaned up to kiss him again. “You have a little while before this job…Do you want me to leave now?”

“That’s a silly question.” Martin pulled her in for another kiss.

***

When he led her out to call a cab for her, Martin didn’t even notice the mess they’d made downstairs. She gave him a quick kiss before climbing into the taxi that pulled off. With a grin on his face and the lingering scent of her perfume following him into the van, he turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

***

_Money’s on the table._

Martin’s had these jobs before.

He turned the key in the doorknob and let himself in, using his wooden wedge to prop the door open before heading upstairs to the kitchen. To be honest he was surprised to see any money sitting there. There had been the times he was promised the cash up front, only to see that after he moved everything and finally met up with the caller that sometimes people were just plain schemers and liars. The last time the man blinked in surprise when Martin mentioned money at all. “Didn’t you see the money on the table? Oh, someone must have knicked it while you were going in and out. Look all I have is 30 pounds on me. That’s fine, yeah?”

Martin shook his head and picked up the bills, counting them out. Forty five. He took a long look around the flat and sighed. The job was probably worth at least twice as much judging by the amount of things marked “Jason” with post-its (obviously she threw him out, it was a woman’s handwriting and she had been the one to call in an irritated tone) but Martin couldn’t afford to be picky now. He stuffed the money in his wallet, took it upon himself to grab a drink of water, and got started.

The slight headache he had the night before was now magnified thanks to his small hangover and the fact that he didn’t bother to have any coffee before he left. Constantly bending over and lifting made the rushes of blood to his brain more painful, and after a while he decided to take a break. It was nearly four and he only had a few hours before she would be coming home. She didn’t tell him he had to be done by then, but by the looks of things it was probably better if Jason’s things were out of sight. He dry swallowed three of his pain pills in case his headache wanted to get worse before getting back to work. His head protested.

Unluckily enough, the woman did end up returning early. Martin was about three-quarters of the way done and waved bashfully as she worked her way up the steps. “I’m really sorry, It’ll probably only be another hour or so-“

“Oh, hi.” She smiled a bit at him and set her purse down. It was obvious she’d been crying a bit and Martin felt bad for her. “It’s okay, I’m honestly surprised you got all this done…yourself?”

Martin nodded. “I’ve had worse, believe me. I’ll just get back to-“

“Did he leave the money for you?” She interrupted him and peered over the landing above the steps to see him. “Come get a drink, you look exhausted.”

_It’s probably obvious I’m hungover too_ , Martin thought with a sigh as he trudged up the steps. _How professional_. “Uh yes, there was some cash on the table.”

“How much?” She handed him a glass of ice water. “I’m Lucy, by the way. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Oh…I’m Martin.” He shook her hand, pleased at how polite the whole thing was. Usually jobs like this were ordered about by someone a little less pleasant. “I think it was enough, don’t worry-“

“No, as much of a cheapskate Jason is I know he stiffed you.” Lucy rolled her eyes and pulled her wallet out. “Is 80 enough? I could write a check if that’s better. He was supposed to take some things with him, I can see he didn’t listen to me. Never did.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t take…” Martin shook his head, setting the glass down after finishing all of the water. “It’s nothing. It won’t be too much longer and I’ll be out of your hair.” He felt bad for the poor girl. He could see she and Jason had been together for a while: Pictures of them were all over, but Jason’s name was only on furniture items and electronics to go with him.

She gave him a look and held out the money. “If you don’t take it I’ll hide it in your van out front. Please. I’ll bet he only gave you 50 pounds, right? I can tell by the look on your face. What an arse.”

“F-Forty-five, actually.” Martin sighed and admitted defeat, taking the money before she decided to shove it into his shirt pocket.

“Honestly, he’s an idiot.” Lucy sniffed and rubbed at her eyes. “I’m just going to change and I’ll pack some of his smaller things into boxes for you, okay?” Before Martin could reply she headed off down the hall, and he pocketed his new wad of cash before going to the large bookshelf that was his next task.

Another hour passed and Martin was pleased to think that after only a few more items he could take the items to Jason’s new apartment. “I called two of our mutual friends who will meet you there,” Lucy told him, “And they promised me they would help you out. I won’t make you work all night.”

Martin gave her a grateful smile and tried to keep her in light conversation as he planned his own evening: with two other men to help he could have everything moved in by nine, and with any luck Anita would be back at the flat by the time he got home. He’d have to shower, of course. Take some more pills. His head felt swollen now, blood rushing in his ears, but he opted to ignore the pain with the hopes that he was making Lucy’s day less terrible by even just a fraction. It was a nice thing to aim for.

“Are you sure you don’t need help with that one? I think-“ Lucy jumped as the corner of a small but heavy dresser hit the wall. “Martin, let me help.”

“N-No, it’s okay, sorry!” Martin grunted and adjusted his stance, feeling a bit shaky. “These things always seem trouble but eventually you get the hang of it…” He swallowed and gripped the bottom of the dresser tighter as his head swam.

Lucy stepped around it to see him. “Martin, you should sit down. You look a bit…oh!” She grabbed the same end of the dresser as Martin lost his grip and steadied it before it turned over the first step. Martin let out a whimper and he felt his eyelid twitch. “Martin…Martin, are you alright?” Lucy frowned.

“I…” Martin tried to shake his head, “Fine, I.” His eyelids fluttered and his head throbbed again. Lucy moved closer. “Martin, sit down. I’ll get some-“

“I-I can’t.”

Martin heard the words slip out before he could realize what they were, and as he said them he realized they were the scary truth. His knees buckled and he kept a grip on the railing of the stairs with one hand. “I…I don’t think I can move.” He swallowed and his voice wavered. “I c-can’t move.” He willed himself to do it- anything, just to sit down or to move his head to see Lucy. Nothing happened. He felt heavy. Like lead was coursing through his veins, keeping him anchored to this one spot on the steps. The boards of the hardwood floor became squiggly lines and he closed his eyes.

“You…” Lucy blinked. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No!” Martin breathed hard and tried to shake his head again. This was stupid. The whole thing was stupid. “I…I’m fine.”

“Martin, you can’t move!”

Maybe he could call Anita. Anita would know why this was happening, exactly why. Right? She knew about everything else, why he was like this. Why these stupid, _stupid_ things were happening.

But he didn’t have Anita’s number. She never gave him one. She only came and went as she pleased, making Martin happy for one night and then dashing off- Now what was he supposed to do?

“D-Douglas.” The name slipped past Martin’s lips and he mentally cursed himself. “C-Could you just…my phone’s on the table, Douglas Richardson. Could you call him? He can…” Do what? Something. Douglas can always do something.

Lucy headed for the kitchen without another word and grabbed Martin’s phone.


	18. Young and Small

Douglas is usually fine with bending the rules, and this is no exception.

It’s been twenty-five minutes since the stranger’s call on his mobile from Martin’s phone, and that’s about twenty-five minutes too many. The motorway is crowded, it being a Friday evening during dinner hours. Douglas is low on gas, low on patience, and low on positivity.

“Bloody…moving jobs, in his condition, I _told_ him.” The smack of Douglas’s hand against the steering wheel of the car echoes in his skin and he can just feel his blood pressure rising. His irritation at Martin is slowly replaced with the realization that Douglas should have probably called to check in on him. Between his daughter’s visit and enjoying quiet nights in he regretfully let the thought slip. And now look where it got them.

_“H-He says he can’t move. He’s just…there.”_

_“I dunno, he looks pale but I thought-Oh! Oh god, I think he might faint. Can you just…Martin!” The line went dead and Douglas cursed, already having started his car and pulled out of the drive._

Thirty minutes now. Maybe he should call Carolyn.

***

“I-I’m fine! Not…not fainting.” Martin let his eyes close again and swayed a bit, still gripping the hand rails. Lucy moved closer, touching his arm gently.

“Maybe you should sit down…Douglas should be here soon.” 

“No, I don’t need to…” Martin’s voice wavered again and Lucy’s grip tightened on his arm. She peeled his fingers one by one from the railing and turned him enough so he could sit on the bottom step. “There we go, now you’re moving a bit…I’ll get some water.”

Martin blinked slowly, trying to remember where he was. “Anita..?” The girl’s voice behind him _sounded_ like hers, anyway. He turned his head slightly and Lucy swallowed from the top of the steps behind him. “No, I’m Lucy. But soon Douglas will be here. Is he your friend?”

“Douglas…Douglas.” Martin frowned and squeezed his eyes shut, finding himself laughing less than a second later. “Oh, no! I don’t really have…He’s not a friend. First officer. On GERTI.” That probably didn’t make any sense to Lucy, but at this rate Martin was barely making any sense to himself.

But if Lucy was confused she didn’t let on. She brought a glass of water back down to him, helping him keep hold of it in his unsteady hands. “Drink some of this, okay?”

It could have been an hour later, Martin wasn’t paying attention. His daze preoccupied him while he drank until he heard tires on Lucy’s driveway outside. “Douglas?”

“Oh, is he-Yes.” Lucy smiled a bit at Martin and headed outside to meet Douglas, where they exchanged words. Martin tried to listen in but nothing really came out of it.

A squeak of the door’s hinges and a few heavy steps on the hardwood later, and Martin blinked his eyes open to see Douglas’ looking into them intently. His face was unreadable. Martin tilted his head.

“I didn’t call you…did I?” He tried to remember, but everything was fuzzy at the edges. His vision was blurry but he could still see the mole on Douglas’ earlobe. The one that made it look like “You’ve got an earring.”

Oh, he said that aloud. Damn. Martin huffed out a laugh. “I’m sure I didn’t call you, Douglas. I…Yes. No! Didn’t call you. Following me then, hmm? No need for…that.” He started to get up but Douglas paced a hand on his shoulder, keeping him down. He looked concerned.

“Martin, how are you feeling? Lucy tells me you…were having trouble moving earlier.” His voice was even and he spoke slowly. Like Martin was stupid.

“I’m not stupid, Dougl-I can move fine, see?” He tried to hold his water glass up but the next thing he knew there was a crash to the floor, and didn’t that hurt his headache a little more? He covered his ears and then frowned, realizing. “Oh God..S-Sorry uh, Lucy?” He looked up at Lucy. “I’m sorry-“

“It’s alright, Martin. Why don’t we get you into the car and to hospital?” Douglas shared a look with Lucy who nodded. “You can get checked out.”

Martin shook his head in protest, and suddenly he saw everything in two. “N-No, no hospital.”

“Martin, I really think it’s a good idea.” Douglas spoke firmly.

“I don’t need to go to hospital, Douglas. Don’t.” Martin tried to put some authority in his voice. “Just g-go home so I can finish working-“

Douglas cut him off, “Martin, you need to see a doctor. After everything in Florida you shouldn’t be-“ He stopped when Martin grabbed his sleeve and tugged, looking at him.

“Please.” Martin’s voice was small and swallowed audibly. “I-I don’t need…I need…” He trailed off again, speaking softly.

Douglas watched him carefully, still gripping Martin’s shoulder with his other hand. He softened his voice. “What do you need then, Martin?”

A thousand things ran through his mind, but Martin only sighed. “Could you…just drive me home?”

***

Douglas couldn’t let Martin fall asleep in the car, so he tried a word game instead. He made sure to get Lucy’s phone number before he left and promised her Martin’s van would be out of the way by the next evening. In Martin’s state he could have honestly just driven all the way to A&E without him noticing until it was too late.

Now, as he tried to help Martin walk up the three small steps to his flat, Douglas wish he would have done just that.

“There we are, just one more.” Douglas spoke encouragingly, though Martin normally would have been offended by it. “Let me just get your key in the…ah.” He unlocked the front door and kept hold of Martin who was now leaning into him, staying quiet. Douglas led him through the hall and into the kitchen. Martin was feeling too warm for his liking and he wanted to get some ice to cool him down. He clicked the light in and stopped in the doorway, taking in the state of the room.

He couldn’t have been more surprised if he tried. Douglas knew for a fact that, coupled with Martin’s ownership of next to nothing, his need for neatness and order would have never allowed the rather large mess. There were dishes out, used…a plate and two glasses on the counter, another glass on the table. Martin’s house shoes were in the middle of the floor and the tap in the sink was dripping slowly. Douglas scanned the room for some clues; Perhaps Martin had been robbed while he was working. He frowned when he saw, on the floor by the chair Martin had obviously used as it was the only one pulled out, an empty bottle of wine.

_Oh dear._

Douglas pulled Martin another step into the room and noticed a partially empty bottle of whiskey on the other side of the table. Apparently Martin had an eventful night. But he wasn’t drinking often, was he? Of course not. He hasn’t seen Martin drink very often at all…not since that night at the hotel in Florida, actually. And Martin certainly wouldn’t do a moving job after he’d been drinking. Really, if Martin had some sort of problem Douglas hoped he would have noticed.

Once Martin was lying back on the sofa and Douglas had his shoes off, he pulled a chair up beside him. Martin’s eyelids were heavy and his forehead definitely warmer now. He looked just like this before, when…

A fluttering image of Martin appeared in his mind: flushed cheeks and curls sticking to his forehead, as he lay with one hand draped over the edge of the pool into the bright water. He was mumbling to himself, eyelids half closed. Douglas sighed, recalling how _young_ Martin looked. Not that he looked older now. Maybe even the opposite. He seemed awfully small on that sofa, which was saying something.

Possibly…not drunk then? Maybe Martin really was just overworking himself, far too much. Dangerously. It’s happened before. Douglas sighed and got some ice in a towel, bringing it back to hold over Martin’s head.

An hour. If Martin didn’t improve by then, Douglas would call an ambulance. He made the silent promise to himself and Martin sighed heavily in his daze, as if he knew what Douglas had planned somehow.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really trying to write/edit a little every day now. I'm going a bit of a hard time and want to use my fics as a distraction (and be productive as well!). Please come talk to me on my [Tumblr](http://www.loveallthesherlocks.tumblr.com/)! Not to be a sad sack but I've been having a rough time and I'd love some internet friends to talk to :)


	19. Have a Party Last Night, Did You?

The room smelled familiar when Martin woke up, and he shifted. It felt like his sofa…It smelled like it too. Still slightly like damp, from when Martin found it sitting out in the rain. It had taken an hour to move inside. He had a cold two days later, but the sofa’s held up fairly well since then.

The next thing he noticed was the smell of…Douglas’ cologne.

What? Martin tried to sit up but the cologne smelled stronger as Douglas pressed hand to his chest, pushing him back. A pain coursed through Martin’s head.

“Ah ah, now. There’s no way I’m letting you move an inch after how you’ve been.” Douglas loomed over him, eyes raking over Martin’s face. Martin blinked and frowned.

“Why’re you at my flat?” He made a face and realized, “Wait, why am _I_ at my flat? I was-“ He looked around and saw his jumper from yesterday thrown onto the floor. He didn’t remember taking that off until he and Anita were upstairs. “Douglas, what’s-“

“I could ask you the same thing, Martin. Would you mind telling me what the hell you’ve been up to?” Douglas moves away from a minute, bringing back the wine bottle and whisky from the kitchen he found earlier. “Have a party last night, did you?”

Martin stammered. “I didn’t have a party, Douglas. Don’t be ridic…” He trailed off, noticing that the whisky bottle wasn’t one of the miniature ones Anita brought in her bag. It was full sized, nearly empty-who brought that?

Who drank it?

“No? I’d like a proper explanation then, if you can manage it.” Douglas sighed and sat down in the chair by the sofa. “Martin, it’s a mess in here. Did you have anyone over? Or do you like to rent the space to partying teenagers while you’re away?” He tried to make the suggestion jokingly, but failed. “Seriously. I want to know.”

Martin frowned deeply as he looked over everything again- the empty bottles, the clothes on the floor…there was even a dark stain (presumably from the whiskey) on the carpet near them. “I…I-I don’t know. Well I.” He shifted, blushing a bit. “I did have someone over, but I don’t remember all of… _this_.” He gestured around the living room and tried to get up, wavering as he did so. His dependable sofa only creaked slightly.

Douglas sighed again and pushed Martin back onto the sofa as gently as he could. Another creak. “No…no. back down, now.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So you did have someone over, and you had some drinks. Well that explains it.” It didn’t sound as if it did, because it didn’t, really- but instead of trying to assess the situation more he just stood up and picked some of the clothes up from the floor, piling them up. “I took the liberty of calling a friend to move the rest of your client’s things for you. He dropped the van off just a little while ago.”

Martin wasn’t really listening as he closed his eyes, trying to remember the previous night more clearly. More specifically, he tried to remember how that other (frankly large) bottle ended up in the flat- Maybe he wasn’t paying enough attention last night when Anita pulled it out of her bag. But he could have _sworn_ …

He was up the stairs before Douglas could grab him, wobbling on the first step and the last before swinging the door open to the attic. Martin righted himself and took a deep breath before pulling the bottom drawer of his dresser out and digging around, ignoring the even worse mess in his room.

He felt his heart drop as soon as soon as he found it. It definitely wasn’t that light before. 27 pounds in notes and change isn’t much, but it certainly added weight to an empty sock.

But that’s all it was now. Empty.

“No. no, no No!” Martin groaned loudly and dumped the few coins out from the sock, running his hands through his curls. Douglas was already headed up the stairs as he noticed Martin was gone, but picked his pace up when he heard the noise of distress from Martin’s room.

“Martin? Martin, are you-“ He stopped in the doorway and frowned, watching Martin kneel on the floor with a sock in one hand and his other hand covering his face.

“No, no…no, I couldn’t have bought it all, I _didn’t_!” He whimpered.

Douglas noticed a few beads of sweat rolling down the back of Martin’s neck, as well as some red splotches. “Bought what, Martin?” He crouched down a bit and tried to help Martin up, only to be pulled away from. Martin looked up, his eyes red and bright, chest heaving.

“The bottles!” Martin pulled his wallet out and opened up the pockets. Apart from the money Lucy had paid him earlier that day his other cash was gone. “ _Both_ bottles, but she was here, and she had one…” He was babbling now, not making any sense in the slightest, moving in circles. “She had the wine first, I couldn’t have bought both. That’s so stupid. I’m so so, incredibly stupid.” He sat down on the edge of his bed, making a small, pathetic noise. “Who spends their whole bloody savings on alcohol?!”

“I think you’ll find that many people do that, quite often in fact.” Douglas deadpanned, which probably wasn’t the best response as Martin only tugged at his hair frantically, standing up and circling again.

Douglas watched him quietly, trying to follow. Obviously Martin thought his guest had bought the alcohol, only to be proven wrong now that he was sober. So…did he even have a guest at all? “Perhaps you gave the money to your…friend, and she bought the bottles?”

“I have to find Anita-No. Oh God, she was supposed to be here. W-What time is it? She’ll be here soon. You have to get out.” The words flew out of Martins mouth before Douglas could fully process them, or the idea he suddenly just had in his head.

Douglas’ concern grew as Martin continued to fret, nearly stumbling when he seemed to trip over his own feet. He lost his balance and Douglas made a grab for his arm, pulling him to the bed.

“Uh…Martin. Why don’t you take a moment here, get your head on straight?” He stepped forward and placed a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “I feel like you’ve mentioned this ‘Anita’ person before…is that right? Maybe in Florida, perhaps.” He tried to keep his voice calm (and certainly not condescending, because what a disaster that would be. Martin responding to some sort of false-assumed criticism from Douglas) as he spoke. “Maybe you should tell me what you _do_ remember from last night. And why the hell all of your muscles decided to stop working this evening? Because that’s why _I’m_ here now, remember?” As Martin blinked up at Douglas he frowned, remembering.

“It was nothing-“

“I’m not completely stupid, Martin. Do give me some credit. Was it another headache? I can only assume the alcohol worsened it some, but maybe before you go on about this Anita woman, you can tell me what’s going on with your _health_.” He emphasizes the last word. “All of it, this time. You look a little worse for the wear…even more so than after your hospital visit in the states. Have you seen a doctor since we came home?”

Martin narrowed his gaze up at Douglas and slid further back into the bed, looking almost suspicious. Douglas really didn’t expect Martin’s whole life story, did he? Not that he wasn’t grateful…he cleared his throat and straightened a bit, head pounding. “D-Douglas, as grateful as I am for the ride home, and for you taking care of me-I really am! I-I…” He tried to take a deep breath, closing his eyes when his head hurt again, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. I can take it from here. I have some things to do now.”

Douglas blinked and gaped at him. “You don’t really expect me to just leave, do you? You haven’t even gotten properly looked at and you still think you can just-“

He’s interrupted by Martin heaving a sigh and snapping at him. “I am _fine_! W-Will you just please go, listen to me for once? I have things to do, Douglas, and I could do without your p-pity-” He stepped away from Douglas then, picking up his last few coins from the floor where he knelt before, and pretending to busy himself with picking up a few other things. His hands started to shake as his voice trailed off.

Douglas bit back the first retort that came to mind. Then the second and third, which would have went even worse that the first of course, before stepping back toward the doorway with one look at Martin and a sigh. Perhaps Martin just needed a few days to let some steam off. The alcohol probably just has more effect on him since he’s so thin.

It’s a lie he has to tell himself, but Douglas can’t think of anything else to do to help Martin that Martin would even accept at the moment.

“If you change your mind, Captain, you know where to find me. If you can find the time, of course.” The words are a bit more bitter leaving his mouth than he intends, nut he only turns and he heads down the stairs, pausing by the table before leaving.

When the front door slammed Martin sighed, sitting back down on the bed and fighting the urge to cry. 


	20. You Know What They Say About Seizures?

As soon as Douglas had left that night, Martin felt extremely guilty. It’s not as if Martin didn’t appreciate Douglas’ help, when he offered it. Sometimes Douglas could actually be nice, like tonight. Going to pick Martin up when some stranger calls, driving Martin home…even staying with him.

And what did Martin do? Yelled at him. Sent him away. He acted no better than he did when the MJN crew wanted to take care of him at the hotel. He was ungrateful, and rude, and…

“Stupid.” He sighed and lowered his head into his hands.

A while passed before he bothered to move again, and he checked the clock. Nearly midnight now, and his head was still throbbing. Unsure if Anita was even going to show up at this point, Martin figured if nothing else he could enjoy the rest of the evening (not that he couldn’t have gone to bed, but he didn’t have any moving jobs, so why worry about that?) on his own. He picked up a few things from the floor, piling them up on his folding chair before heading downstairs and straightening up a bit there too. He sighed, taking in the mess he left the night before. It really did look like he threw a party. And did he really start undressing _before_ going up to his room? Everything from the night before seemed fuzzy now…

He decided to give up on cleaning. Bending over and coming back up repeatedly made his head swim anyway. He walked into the kitchen, picking up the half-full bottle of whiskey leftover from last night. After pouring a small glass he untwisted the cap on his pill bottle, eyes scanning over the printed warnings.

_Do not use with alcohol._

Martin sighed and took two, chugging down a few gulps of the amber liquid right after. He could afford to break the rules a few times, right?

And everyone needs a little courage before they apologize to someone.

***

Douglas grunted and sat up with a frown when his phone buzzed. He must have fallen asleep.  He leaned over, flipping it open.

_One New Voicemail  
    Martin Crieff_

“What is it now, Captain?” Douglas sighed and put his password in, putting the phone up to his ear.

The voicemail was quiet at first, until suddenly there was a small _thump_ in his ear. “Oops!” Martin’s voice comes through, a bit loud, and Douglas has to pull the phone away a bit. “Douglas! Doug…Douglas.” His words were slurred and he cleared his throat. “Uh…um. ‘S fine, really. I’m fine! Good maybe. Maybe good, yes.”

Douglas frowned and sat up. Between this call and the one from Lucy, it’s been the oddest day for mobile conversations.

“D-Douglas, I hope you didn’t hang up or anything! Listen, no I mean really listen, not like normally when you interrupt!” Martin’s words ran together and he was breathing hard. “I-I know I was…erm, well I was very rude. Terribly…what? Yes, rude, Douglas. Don’t argue with me.”

Douglas’ frown deepened at this comment. He hadn’t even said anything, and Martin was leaving a bloody message! Who was Martin talking to, if Douglas wasn’t there?

“Anyway! I’m very sorry, I just…well I haven’t been feeling well. You were right.” Martin sighed. “It’s awful really, sometimes…I g-guess I was just upset about the…the drinks.” He spoke haltingly now, heaving another shaky sigh. Douglas shifted when Martin sniffed.

“B-But don’t worry about me, Douglas. I’ll erm…be fine! Maybe I’ll be feeling better soon…oh-” He trails off, voice getting quiet. After a moment of silence other than Martin’s heavy breathing, there was a small thud, banging in Douglas’ ears.

Douglas shot up immediately, mostly out of instinct- but it wasn’t long before he had his keys in hand and was stuffing his feet into his shoes.  “Martin…Martin! Can you hear me?” Douglas checked to see if the voicemail was still playing, which it was. He hurried outside to his car, turned his keys in the ignition and pulled away from the curb. “Martin!”

But there was only silence on the other end. Of course there was Dougls, you idiot. It's a voicenail. Douglas couldn’t even hear if Martin might still be breathing or not. He pressed his phone harder against his ear anyway, in hopes of hearing something as he sped down the road and in the direction of Martin’s flat.

***

He was running.

Martin wasn’t really much of a runner, not anymore. Not since school anyway, when he spent hours on the track, timing himself, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth (or what it in through his mouth, out through his nose? Did it really matter in the end? You’re still breathing very hard), ignoring the reminders of a quiz the next day or how dad’ll probably be upset by the quiz he just got back, or how Simon and his friends were probably going to show up any minute now to make fun of him-

But this wasn’t like that. Martin was running, in no direction particular, on soft ground he couldn’t see. He felt the air around him, open and warm, the sun beating down on his skin and giving him a pleasant warmth.

No…the sun was beating _up_ on him. Martin blinked and turned his head enough to see the sun below his trainers (nice, _new_ trainers with wings painter on the sides and a red stripe around them) and through thin, white haze. The softness he was running on.

Clouds? Martin frowned and looked ahead again, looking for a sign to indicate where he was, or why on Earth (or not Earth, really, above Earth at best) he was running in the sky of all places. He kept his feet moving, unable to stop but not really finding any inclination to anyway.

Besides, there was the _thing_ behind him. It was silent, and creeping along as fast as Martin’s thin, sinewy legs were carrying him, and it was heavier than him, he could tell. He daren’t look back at the thing, because if he faced it, it would get bigger (and most surely faster, wouldn’t it?) and Martin couldn’t risk that. Not now when he was running over clouds. When he was soaring through the sky without the help of Douglas or GERTI.

Not when he was flying.

He sped up a little bit, hoping that soon he could outrun

(or out _fly_ )

whatever was behind him.

***

“Martin?” Douglas was still panicked when he reached Martin’s flat, jiggling the doorknob and sighing with relief to seeing it was unlocked. He pushed the door open and scanned the small kitchen first before moving into the living room. “Martin, its Douglas. Say something if you can hear me!” He all but shouted into the phone as well. As if that could've helped. It was a stretch to say Douglas was watching his tone, but this was more out of concern than annoyance for Douglas. He knew the other students weren’t there anyway, and if Martin could hear him at all-

He hit the first step of the long staircase leading up to Marti’s attic when Martin answered him. It was barely an answer, barely a fraction of an answer really; only a small, weak moan travelling from Martin’s lips and a shuffle on the creaky wooden floor of his room. Douglas was going to take it, though. It was more than he could hope for at this point. A silent dread filled him as he bounded up the stairs, two at a time with some difficulty. He was sure Martin would be on the floor in some way, but a response from him meant he might be alright. Maybe it was just the alcohol, Douglas thought to himself.

But as he pushed the attic door open the dread was replaced with something heavier in his chest, expanding like a balloon: fear.

Martin was there, crumpled to the floor and in an odd way- one hand stretched out toward his phone which was technically still on the line with Douglas’. Douglas’ eyes raked over Martin’s frail body, chest seemingly unmoving, eyelids fluttering wildly. His cheeks were flushed, curls stuck to his forehead in sweat, and his mouth was moving a bit, as if he was mumbling to himself. But Douglas couldn’t hear anything.

He could smell though, and that was what led him to look the rest of Martin (and the room) over. Martin had wet himself, that much was obvious, and a broken glass was in front of the door (the first thing Douglas heard as he took a step forward quickly, shoe crushing the glass more). Douglas glanced around for any other signs of struggle or Martin being sick anywhere in the room, but he saw none. As he dropped to his knees beside Martin, hanging his phone up and opening it again to dial 999, he checked Martin’s pulse-erratic, but there. Martin was so thin Douglas wouldn’t have been surprised if his heart started jumping though his skin.

“Martin,” Douglas spoke firmly and patted Martin’s cheek, leaning down to listen to his breathing as an operator picked up. “I need an ambulance! My…my friend, he’s collapsed on the floor-“

“Mmh...” Martin groaned then, eyelids fluttering again but never opening fully. Douglas pulled one back to check his pupil, then pushed his hair back. “No, I’m not sure why, he’s had headaches for a while and I suspect he knows his medical condition but I have no bloody clue, look, can you please send someone now? I’m afraid he might start-“

And wasn’t _that_ the wrong thing to say and think, Douglas asked himself as Martin’s body started jerking underneath him, head hitting the floor as a seizure overtook his body. Douglas dropped the phone and bent forward more to turn Martin over to his side ad Martin thrashed back against him, curls bouncing. Douglas reached awkwardly for an old shirt of Martin’s from under the bed, stuffing it into the best ball shape he could before sliding it under Martin’s head. He lowered his voice, speaking softly as he let his hand pet Martin’s hair gently.

“It’s alright, Martin. I’m here. You can hear me, can’t you? It’ll be over in a minute, and we’ll get you to a hospital, checked out…you’ll be right as rain, I promise.” _I’m not going to ignore this any longer, at any rate,_ Douglas scolded himself silently, fingers raking through Martin’s sweat-soaked curls as the thrashes slowly started to subside under Douglas’ hand. Douglas knew what people said about seizures- no one really knew if a person could actually hear you while they were in the middle of one, or what they could hear (or even feel), but maybe a small part of Martin’s brain could focus on Douglas’ voice just now. It was something small to hope for at this point, besides focusing on his other hope: That Martin come out of all this alive. It was the one thing Douglas had to hope for now.

“There’s no use in being one of the youngest pilots of an air dot if you don’t get to grow old doing it, is there captain?” Douglas gently rolled Martin onto his back as the last of the tremors ran through Martin’s body, and he blinked slowly. Douglas sighed and checked his pulse, keeping an eye on his watch. It was slowing down now, at least. And it was still there, so…

“Douglas?” Martin’s voice was small, confused as he blinked up at Douglas, who nearly jumped and let go of him.

“ _Martin._ ” Douglas exhaled and nodded, looking Martin over quickly. “You really know how to put someone through the wringer, you know that?” He wiped some sweat from Martin’s brow.

Martin didn’t say anything, blinking widely still at the sight of Douglas over him. He worked his mouth silently for a second before speaking again. “I…I think GERTI’s following me..?” It almost sounded like a question, as if he couldn’t believe he was saying it himself- and Douglas could see why that might confuse Martin. It was the most ridiculous thing he think he’d ever heard.

“GERTI…is following you.” Douglas held back a chuckle, which was difficult enough to do on its own. Martin looked like a child now, really, pink cheeks and wide eyes, speaking quietly about some evil plane chasing after him in the night. “I’m not sure our girl would do that to us, Captain. She’s been very faithful all this time.” He tried a smile then, a reassuring one, for Martin’s sake.

“But…”Martin didn’t like this, though, eyebrows knitted together in upset as he tried to push himself up to a sitting position. “I could feel it, in the clouds, and the sun-“ He blinked when he saw his wet pajama pants, falling silent as his cheeks flushed more (if they could at that point). He seemed even _younger_ now, reminding Douglas of his daughter’s younger years- Gently reassuring them that they won’t always wet the bed. That they’ll grow out of it eventually. Martin kept his eyes downward, as if Douglas was going to scold him. Or make fun of him, possibly. As if Douglas were even that cruel.

“It’s quite alright. Why don’t we get you changed before the medics get here, and you can tell me more about GERTI?” Douglas kept his voice light and his hand steady between Martin’s shoulder blades until he was sure Martin could stay sitting, before getting up and moving to the dresser. “Stay there, I’ll help you. How’d you know it was GERTI?”

“Medics?” Martin frowned and looked around, seeming to forget about his embarrassment for the moment... “I don’t need…”

“Let’s not have an argument about what you do and don’t need right now, Martin. I could compile a list of things you most certainly _need_ , and it’s not exactly a pleasant conversation. Here we are.” He pulled some jeans out and some clean boxer briefs from the drawers.

“N-No, Douglas, I mean…I don’t need…I know what’s wrong. W-With me I mean, and…” Martin looked around again, slowly getting up as Douglas’ back was turned. He covered himself a bit awkwardly with his hands, the fabric of his bottoms sticking to his skin as a cold reminder. “I mean I couldn’t see GERTI, but I could feel it. And the sun…it was making my arm itch.” He scratched his wrist as he said this, swaying a bit.

Douglas sighed. This was a difficult conversation to keep up with, but for Martin’s sake he tried his best. “Was the sun too warm, then?” Here, sit down- Martin!” He raised his voice without realizing, worried as Martin nearly fell into the dresser from his unbalanced-ness. “Careful…Martin, no, we’re not going downstairs yet.”

“B-But I have to see if Anita’s…” Martin protested weakly as Douglas steered him towards the bed. “She said it m-might not hurt, if I just let it go. Wh-What do you think?” He gripped Douglas’ sleeves tightly, looking up at him in all seriousness as their movements stopped.

Douglas regarded him quietly for a moment. Surely Martin didn’t know what he was talking about. “Maybe Anita doesn’t know everything, hmm? I seem to know a captain who’s usually sure enough of himself not to blindly follow other people’s advice.”

Martin huffed. “’Course, that was before GERTI started chasing me up there.” He gestured to the ceiling with a flapping hand, sinking down on the edge of the bed. “Maybe she knows more about the brain…but you did take some medical school, didn’t you?”

“I did.” Douglas nods once and leans over to pick up the jeans he dropped when Martin grabbed his arms. “Brain classes were a bit beyond my reach, though…”

Martin mumbled while he spoke. “Seems a bit unfair, doesn’t it? Your own body attacking itself. For no reason…”

Douglas chuckled, seeming not to have heard him. “Well at any rate, I didn’t make it far enough to learn too much about the brain. But I’m sure I would have done well enough-Martin!” He gasped and lunged forward as Martin’s eyelids fluttered and he fell forward off the bed, towards the hard floor. Douglas all but caught him between his arms- Martin was so thin he nearly slipped through them. “Martin, can you hear me?” He could hear sirens through the window as he turned Martin a bit to face him. “Martin, please…the medics are here now. Wake up, lad.”

But Martin didn’t move- didn’t make any more accusations against GERTI chasing him, didn’t argue against Douglas’ medical opinions, didn’t even groan this time.

He did, however, start running again.


	21. To Gloat? It Wouldn't Surprise Me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Douglas gets some advice from a professional, and a harsh reminder from Martin-who takes a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I published this for Fanfiction Writer's Day! I'd been editing it and poring over it for way too long. It's time it was on here anyway. I appreciate all my subscribers' loyalty over all this time, and I'm grateful that even though this is a slow moving story, you're still invested. So here's to all the writers (and readers) out there! <3

“Mr. Richardson, what do you know about Mr. Crieff’s condition?”

It was a testament to Douglas’ patience that he actually didn’t notice the doctor walking towards him.

He was sitting quietly, bouncing his knee with his head bowed toward the floor-the beeping of monitors and chattering of other worried friends and family members nearby were finally melting together into a low hum in Douglas’ head, and he was grateful for the temporary peace.

Not that it lasted. The toes of the doctor’s shoes were suddenly in Douglas’ viewpoint, just touching the edge of the tile closest to Douglas’ own shoes. He looked up, the question repeating in his mind.

“I…condition?” Douglas rolled his shoulders, hearing a few cracks. He sighed. “The fact that you call it a ‘condition’ shouldn’t surprise me, really. But I guess it does...” He paused, regarding the doctor’s unreadable expression before taking a deep breath.

“All I know is he’s had…hell. Headaches nearly constantly, hallucinations, I think? A nasty flu less than a month ago…we had to take him to hospital in the States when he collapsed. He hasn’t told us anything still. Well, me…and then there was that weird…he said he couldn’t move for a while. Then suddenly, he was fine. I’m sure this all sounds very…odd.” He cleared his throat and shifted. “But of course all of this might be a good indicator to the fact that Martin’s been….well. Not…good.” He sighed.

The doctor nodded solemnly and sat down in the chair across from Douglas, making him slightly nervous. But he rambled on anyway. “I’ve been really…concerned about it all, but Martin’s always been a very proud person. He won’t talk about what’s been going on at all.” Douglas shook his head and waved his hand once. “Not that I expected him to, really, but I…well _we_ hoped.”

When he heard Carolyn’s name coming out of his mouth, Douglas suddenly felt guilty. He hadn’t even thought to call Carolyn to tell her what had happened, and they had a flight coming up.

“Er, anyway…that’s all I know. Which is basically nothing, as sorry as I am to say.” He nodded once to stop himself, realizing just now that he was rambling a bit.

But the doctor seemed to be taking it all in still, her index finger tapping her knee lightly. After a moment she sighed. “Martin is awake now, but I don’t have his permission to give you the details of what’s happening to him. Or rather…I’ll put it this way,” She sighed again, looking at Douglas. “He specifically doesn’t want me to tell you anything.”

Douglas blinked, anger suddenly taking place alongside his worry in his chest. He spoke low. “He told you not to tell me _anything_?” When the doctor nodded, he stood up. “I want to see him.”

“Ah…” The doctor stood as well, touching Douglas’ shoulder, “I can’t really tell you about his condition, but I wanted to talk to you about…some general things first. Would that be alright?”

Douglas shifted and nodded in understanding. “I…fine. Just tell me what you can, at least. Er…please.”

The doctor took a deep breath, thinking before speaking. “Mr. Crieff…well, the only reason we know anything is because he told us what he knew. His hospital visit in America told him what he needed to know. We need to do a few more tests before he’s released today. He’s agreed to those, thankfully. They’re mostly markers on his…progress since then.” He nodded slowly, looking somber again. “Unfortunately, he’s a bit…reluctant,” she sighed, “About treatment. I’m not sure why, and without divulging details about his condition I can’t say much about it-“

“Treatment.” Douglas interrupted, his face growing tense. “He needs treatment? It must be serious, then.”

“Again, I can’t say much-“

“Then what is the bloody point of you?!” Douglas’ voice rose and a few people looked over-one woman’s face conveying her sympathy to Douglas as if she understood what was happening. As if something was _actually_ wrong, and the doctor couldn’t fix it for him. Or Martin. Douglas shifted his gaze away from her, clearing his throat and collecting himself before speaking again. “I…apologize. Please continue.”

The doctor nodded. “I understand completely. It’s very frustrating for me as a medical professional as well. I’ll be quite frank: Mr. Crieff needs to take immediate action. In retrospect he’s very lucky at this point, and we’d like to help him. This all sounds quite bleak coming from me, I’m sure, but we want to help him. If he doesn’t…”She trailed off and Douglas shifted.

“If he doesn’t?” He prompted, voice a bit strained, but the doctor simply let a slow breath out from between her lips.

“Would you please talk to him? Really, I wish he would agree to be admitted for a longer stay but he’s adamant on going home. At any rate, he’ll be here until tomorrow afternoon at earliest. Maybe you can use this time to discuss things with him. He might be a little more open to admitting things to a friend now that it’s gotten to this point-”

“This point.” Douglas echoed with a sigh, his chest feeling tight. He ran a hand through his hair.

“-And, I’m actually worried with Mr. Crieff’s emotional…stability about everything. I would suggest he see someone as well. It may help him come to terms with what he needs to do for his own health. It seems that he had already entered a deep state of depression-”

“A therapist?” Douglas blinked and ran a hand through his hair, muttering. Maybe Martin _was_ seeing things. That Anita girl, whoever she was…she probably wasn’t even real. And what else is going through Martin’s head? Flittering images of the alcohol bottles in Martin’s flat, his pale and sunken cheeks on the flight to America…the slow turn of his head, cheek resting on the concrete by the pool’s edge. Eyelashes fluttering slowly, one arm dangling in the water-

Bright and vacant eyes, blinking up at Douglas. _“Seems a bit unfair, doesn’t it? Your body attacking itself…for no reason.”_

 “Christ.”

After a moment of silence the doctor cleared his throat, bringing Douglas back to the current world; the one where things were most definitely not normal, hadn’t been for a long time, and were yet to be for possibly even longer. Douglas shifted.

“I would appreciate any effort you make, Mr. Richardson. I’m grateful Martin seems to have a friend to rely on.” The doctor smiled a bit then, reassuringly. It made Douglas feel guilty. Some friend to rely on. Martin wouldn’t even tell him what the hell’s going on.

“I…yes. Of course. Thank you, doctor…can I see him?”

“Right this way.”

***

He looked thinner than Douglas had ever seen, if that was even bloody possible. Maybe he just never really noticed. Martin’s body was nearly as white at the sheets and the gown on him, and his freckles made a sharp contrast against it all. Like a sky painted in negative- dark spots cutting into white harshly, clustered together in random order. His curls, darker from sweat and sticking to his forehead again, trembled when Martin shifted uncomfortably under Douglas’ gaze. One step into the room and the tension was just _seeping_ from Martin’s shoulders, but the guard was still there. Still, it gave Douglas some reassurance that Martin might be alright with talking to him. One could hope, anyway.

But of course he’d be tense about seeing Douglas. What sort of friend was he, lately? Or at all, even? He let all this go on for far too long and now Martin was paying for it. If no one else was enough to make Martin feel like he could ask for help, or talk about it, or get healthy, than Douglas needed to be enough for him now. Didn’t he?

And here they were, silent: Martin’s breathing hard and labored, eyes stuck on Douglas as if he was waiting for some sort of lashing-and Douglas stuck in the doorway feeling like some sort of failed father figure. It’s not the first time he’s felt this way: raising a daughter will bring it on as well, probably on a monthly basis. But Martin was different. He was an adult, who still couldn’t take care of himself.

Who apparently, didn’t even want to. But why?

Douglas was surprised to hear Martin’s voice first. It was a bit hoarse, as if he might have been crying. “I’m just waiting for one of your jokes, Douglas.”

Douglas blinked, finally sliding inside the room and closing the door behind him. He was grateful Martin didn’t have a roommate for now. “Is that why you think I’m here?”

“To gloat? It wouldn’t surprise me.” Martin pulled the thin sheet up over his hips, pulling slightly at the IV in his arm. Dehydration, Douglas reminded himself with a sigh as he moved a bit closer to the bed and pulled a chair up.

“I’m most certainly not here to gloat Martin, and I’m offended you think that. Can I sit?”

“I’m sure you’d sit even if I didn’t want you to.” Martin’s voice was thicker now, on edge. Defensive.

“Do you want me to go, then?” Douglas watched him, keeping his words even and neutral. Martin probably wasn’t even feeling himself yet. Seizures, they’re nasty things. The last thing Martin needed now is more doubt. “If you want me to leave, I will. I would rather stay with you, though.” He nodded.

Martin swallowed and looked up at him finally. The brims of his eyes were lined red and he looked…well, tired. Exhausted. Douglas shifted as Martin looked him over like he wasn’t still wasn’t sure if Douglas even meant it. But he only shrugged after a moment.

“If you want to stay…”

“Good.” Douglas sat down, scooting the chair close to the bed. “Thank you, Martin. How are you feeling?”

Martin looked genuinely surprised by this question. “What?”

“How are you feeling?” Douglas bit back an exasperated sigh. “Why are you surprised I’m asking that? You bloody collapsed in your room on the floor.”

“Oh, is that what happened? Not as if a doctor already told me that. Or a nurse. Or another nurse.” Martin sighed quietly, picking at a thread in the sheet. “I…Well that _is_ what they told me…but I didn’t remember much of it.” He looked a bit guilty then. “S-Sorry. I…they said I might be feeling a bit…irritable.”

“Of course.” Douglas nodded and took a breath, fingers flexing. “Er…what else did they say..?”

Martin didn’t respond to that though-to be fair, Douglas already knew he wouldn’t. Pretty easy try, really.

“It’s just…I actually am very worried, Martin. Things have gotten very bad, very quickly now and-“

“I know that.” Martin sighed and looked up toward the ceiling.

“Yes, well I’m just saying.” Douglas shifted, watching him. “You could tell me what’s going on. What I can do to help.”

“You can’t help this.” Martin groaned quietly, fingers scrubbing at his eyes, reddening the skin there even more. His voice wavered. “You can’t help me, Douglas.”

“I’m sure I could help just the tiniest bit, Martin. How would you know? I’m sure the doctor has already told you that you need support-“

“Is that what she said?” Martin glared at Douglas then, and his pulse monitor spiked. “What else did she say? I specifically _told_ her not to-“

“Martin, she didn’t tell me anything. She just said you might want to confide in a friend about what’s happening to you.” Douglas sighed and sat back in his chair, foot bouncing a bit. “It could really help, you know.”

“I don’t need help, Douglas. That’s what you don’t understand.” Martin huffed. “I can do this alone-“

“But you don’t have to!” Douglas cut him off, leaning forward again quickly. His hand automatically reached for Martin’s, grabbing it firmly and tugging it slightly so Martin would look-Just _see_. “Martin, you daft man, I am trying to tell you that you are _not_ alone. You’re not alone in this bloody hospital wing, you weren’t when you had that blasted flu, or when you forgot your room key-Hell, Martin, as soon as you went quiet on the phone I tripped over the doorstep rushing inside your flat to see you!”

Martin’s pulse picked up again, steadily beeping. He blinked once, wide, before looking down at Douglas’ and his hand. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Douglas-“

“No, Martin.” Douglas kept his voice firm, but at the same level. “I’m not trying to treat you like a child here, though god knows you’ve been acting like one. It’s got to stop now. It’s worrying me, and Carolyn and _Arthur_ sick. We’re your friends and we do actually care, even if we like to pretend we don’t. You can’t handle this alone, can you? Look at where it’s gotten you now.”

Martin narrowed his gaze and snatched his hand away from Douglas’, reaching for the nurse’s button. “Is that what you think, then? Th-That we’re _friends_?” He scoffed. “P-Please, Douglas. You do everything in your power to make me feel like an idiot-Carolyn’s always calling me a berk and questioning every decision I make at my _job_ -which is the only way we all know each other anyway! Friends. D-Didn’t you know, Douglas? I don’t have any of those!” The pulse monitor seemed to be making more of a steady beat and Martin’s chest rose rapidly with his breaths-he gulped for air and hit the button on the remote.

“So yes, I can do this alone and I _will_ , but if you really want to stop worrying about your dear old Captain, go ahead and find a new one to replace me. I’m sure you’ll feel loads better then.”

“Martin that’s not what I…you really should calm down. You’re upsetting yourself-“ Douglas stood and reached for the remote. “Here, let me-“

“ _You’re_ upsetting me!” Martin all but shouted at him, before whimpering and hitting the nurse’s button again six times in a row. Just then, a nurse opened the door and stepped in, looking concerned and glancing at Douglas.

“Mr. Crieff, what’s wrong?” She stepped around the bed, gently taking the remote from Martin’s trembling hand and checking his monitor. “Your blood pressure-“

“P-Please tell Mr. Richardson to leave. I d-don’t want him here right now.” Martin whimpered again and leaned forward a bit. “My chest hurts and I c-can’t…” He swallowed and shook his head, sounding like he might start crying.

“Alright…we need to get you calmed down first, Mr. Crieff-

Douglas sighed and interrupted. “No, message received.” He pushed the chair back against the wall before retreating to the door. “I’ll just be on my way. Can’t be upsetting my _coworker_ any longer.” He looked at Martin then-still hunched over while the nurse was now taking his blood pressure, concern still lining her face.

“Alright…I need you to take a few deep breaths for me.” The nurse nodded and rubbed Martin’s back gently before lying him back on the bed. “We don’t want to risk-“

“R-Right, got it.” Martin cut her off and shifted. “Sorry.”

 _Risk._ Douglas frowned. “Risk…?”

“Douglas, leave!” Martin sat up quickly and the nurse tutted. “Mr. Crieff, please-“

“Martin, don’t get upset. I’ll go! I just want to make sure you’re-“

“I am _fine_ , g-go away!” Martin’s breathing grew heavier and all the color drained from his face suddenly. The nurse made a worried sound. “Mr. Crieff?” She searched around for the nurse’s button remote in the sheet. Douglas quickly stepped forward.

“Martin, take a deep breath.” He felt Martin’s forehead which was now covered in sweat. “ _Christ,_ he’s burning up! Martin, can you hear me?” He leaned forward, trying to catch Martin’s eye.

“D-Douglas, I’m…” Martin made an odd sound then, just before leaning forward and vomiting. The nurse hurried to the door, calling into the hall for a doctor.

“Douglas resisted the urge to jump back, grabbing the bed pan from the small table near the bed and holding it up for Martin. He rubbed Martin’s back gently. “It’s alright…” He looked back to where the nurse is coming in with two more, and a doctor. “What’s wrong? What’s happening to him?”

“Sir, we need you to move-Mr. Crieff, how are you feeling?” The doctor pushed past Douglas and checked Martin’s eyes with the light. “Can you hear me?”

“I….I don’t…” Martin looked confused, blinking slowly. Suddenly he clutched his stomach and vomited again-nothing more than bile, but his body took the action so violently he nearly pushed himself off the bed.

Douglas wanted to help them, to move forward and steady Martin, but the nurses moved quicker either way. Just as Martin stopped vomiting he fell sideways a bit, passed out-and time moved slowly for just a second while Douglas remembered the last time he saw that happen.

And as if on cue, Martin started seizing again. Douglas swallowed, staying rooted to the spot.

The doctor barked at one of the nurses who ran to the phone, dialing a number. She mentioned something about an operating room being ready when she’s hung up the phone, going back over to help keep Martin from moving off the bed during his seizure. Douglas’s chest tightened as he watched. “Operating room-What’s _happening_? Why won’t you tell me anything?”

But he should have known better than that-The next group to come in crowded around the bed and Martin couldn’t be seen anymore. A nurse all but pushed Douglas out to the hall, and within a few minutes the group rolled Martin’s bed out past him. Douglas tried to see better, tried to see if Martin was awake yet- “Martin!”

But Martin didn’t respond, and soon the bed is whisked into the elevator at the end of the hall. The doors closed and Martin was gone from sight…leaving Douglas clutching the bedpan between his tightened fists and staring at the crack of the metal doors.


	22. Pushing the Lever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A diagnosis, and a companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long wait for this one- it's been sitting in my files and I kept going back to it, editing and changing it to try and make it perfect. It's not anywhere close but I feel good about where the chapter ended, and where we're headed. My apologies for taking so long yet again, but I hope it was worth it somehow. I also hope you enjoy the characterization of the characters. It's something I strive to keep in check (as well as keeping my tenses in check as well!).
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> *PLEASE READ* I am by no means a professional in the medical field nor a professional researcher in what Martin has been suffering from. However, I do know people affected by this and have used their stories/experiences as well as forums I've read and doctor's notes to formulate Martin's own story. Not all of these symptoms, diagnosis, treatment, etc are typical as every experience is different. I did my very best to read up as much as I could before and during writing these chapters. 
> 
> I knew from the beginning what the general diagnosis would be but the story has also taken a road of its own as far as how it progressed for Martin particularly, and I appreciate that. I truly hope no one is offended by anything I've written and that they enjoy the story for what it is: a whump!Martin fic with the promise of friendship along his journey.
> 
> I sincerely hope you are enjoying my story. It's been a long one and it's not over yet!

“I’m just trying to get some information-“

“They haven’t given us an update, sir. If you could just-“

“Then ring down and bloody _ask_ them for an update!” Douglas raised his voice and smacked his hand on the counter of the front desk, making the nurse jump slightly. The other family members in the hall stopped and looked over-a few hushed whispers moving between them. Douglas sighed,pushing his hair back with his hand.

The nurse inhaled deeply and stood up, speaking firmly. “Sir.” She sighed. “I can’t find anything out until they do. Please have a seat and I’ll be sure to come and talk to you as _soon_ as I find anything out. Please. I understand, I do, but getting worked up won’t help anyone.”

Douglas shifted and looked around at the eyes on him. Guilt began to fall over him, settling heavy in his chest. It wasn’t his place to be screaming at anyone, let alone a nurse. What was he even doing? He knew better than that.

Douglas took a deep breath and nodded once, speaking quietly. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ll just…get some coffee downstairs and come back up in a bit.”

In the café, he watched a few groups of people, sipping his coffee quietly. A teenage girl with a shaved head was leaning against her father while her mother showed her pictures. The table across from Douglas had a larger family, all trying to make a young boy with a cast on his arm laugh. Douglas sighed, checking the clock. It’d been two hours now, with no news-nothing to ease the heaviness in Douglas’ chest or to even worry him more. No information he could run over his mind hundreds of times, or google on his phone, or even to call Carolyn with.

He debated it, of course. Calling Carolyn. But with Arthur worrying and the two of them showing up-Carolyn asking questions Douglas already tried, or Arthur freaking out about _What’s happened to Skip?_ or _Well he’ll be fine, right? He’s okay. He’s Skip!_

But honestly, it’s not as if Douglas could even lie about that now. Martin really _wasn’t_ okay, was he? He hasn’t been for months, and now they were here: at a point where Douglas could just feel was their lives turning around to move in another direction. He regretted staying in Martin’s room upstairs as long as he did. What if he’d left and Martin didn’t get upset? And in a few hours maybe he could have went home, and Douglas could have talked to him another time-

But no. It was probably always going to happen this way, Douglas reminded himself. Martin had been pushing help away since the very beginning of it all, and even before- And somehow it was all going to come to a head in the end: With Martin in danger, and Douglas nearly in tears at one point, drumming his fingers on the cafeteria table distractedly while he hoped (and prayed, even) that Martin would come out of this okay.

No…That Martin would come out of this alive.

It was the best thing Douglas could hope for now, and that fact was making him nauseous.

***

There was a cloud, moving slowly in the sky. It passed over the sun, shielding it for a moment before revealing it again on the other side-Martin squinted at it, the bright orange ball against blue-and GERTI, Martin could almost see himself in the cockpit. She wasn’t chasing him anymore, she was letting him have full control. Now he could do whatever he wanted.

But suddenly, a woman’s face appeared in front of the view, and he realized what he was looking through-

The glass of a hospital room window.

He blinked and sat up quickly-or so he thought, but the movements of his body weren’t catching up with him. A nurse stopped him, gently laying him back again against the pillow. She pressed a button and the reclined top of the bed oved back up slowly so Martin was sitting. He frowned, reaching up to push his curls away from his forehead, but his hand wouldn’t follow the direction. He made a small noise, akin to a grunt-whine, before giving up on the movement. The nurse was saying something to him then-but it was garbled, loud and like an ocean wave hitting both of your ears at the same time and deafening you-

But instead of focusing on that, Martin realized something else in front of him. How could he not notice-

Someone, standing at the foot of the bed. Arms across his chest, his thumb pressed over his pursed lips. Furrowed eyebrows. As if he wanted to talk, to say something to Martin, but he wouldn’t allow himself to. Martin struggled to remind himself of the man’s name. It was there, on the tip of his tongue. He _knew_ this man, he was sure of it. They met…somewhere. An office, grey and small with chipped wooden desks and-

“F-Fl…Flight logs!” The words tumbled out of his mouth loudly and he breathed hard, watching the man. He’d know, wouldn’t he? He’d know what Martin meant. The papers on the chipped desks at that grey office…where they met... “Flight logs.”

The man’s eyes widened and the nurse hurried out, saying something else Martin didn’t understand. He blinked his eyes as hard as he could, and there was a fuzzy feeling behind them, and staticy noise in his eardrums. He looked at the man once more, tilting his head.

If _he_ was here…Martin looked back out toward the window, with another grunt-whimper.

He was still here. He was still _alive_.

It was all for nothing, wasn’t it? The headaches, the dreams, Anita…he was still her, with this man looking over him in disapproval as always-and now he was supposed to keep living? Keep…

He tried to wipe his tears from his cheeks, but his hands wouldn’t move. Another whimper escaped from his lips and he looked up at the man at the foot of his bed, who still hadn’t moved other than to drop his arms, fingers fidgeting.

Martin closed his eyes, wishing that it was just a nightmare he was having. That the real nightmare was over-his life. Maybe GERTI wasn’t too far away. Maybe he could catch her.

***

Douglas stepped slowly into Martin’s room, watching the nurse take his vitals. Martin was still, eyes closed. Bandage around his head, part of his hair shaved underneath-he didn’t look whole, for some reason. He looked…a bit inhuman.

The pulse monitor beeped steadily, reminding Douglas that Martin was in fact, still alive. If at all, barely, anyway. And when he woke-what will alive mean? What will Martin say, do, think? What will he want? Douglas shuddered at the doctor’s words ringing in his ear. Of course he had to tell Douglas everything, after this. This… _this_ was irreversible. It really was the turning point, as Douglas had feared. It would all change, once Martin opened his eyes.

And change, it did. Slowly, but definitely-as Martin tried to move his body, ultimately failing while Douglas watched him silently. Martin looked horrified, like he was going to cry as he took the surroundings in: the nurse, speaking gently to him. The heart monitor. The tubes in his arms. The bed he was in.

And finally, Douglas, standing at Martin’s feet.

Martin narrowed his gaze, concentrating. Douglas felt rooted to the spot, unable to say anything. Should he? Is he allowed to? The doctor said Martin might not even remember-

“F..Flylughs!” Martin breathed hard, watching Douglas. He almost looked proud then, speaking this unintelligible word. “Flylughs…” He shifted, waiting for Douglas’ reaction to come. When Douglas failed again, not responding, Martin huffed and his right arm twitched a few times.

Was he trying to move?

Martin made a hushed noise-desperate, whiny as his arm twitched again. He watched Douglas as he did so, thinking again, and before long it was clear that Martin _was_ going to cry. His cheeks reddened and his eyes were bright. Immediately after the first tears fell, both of his arms made an attempt to move. Douglas sighed-not at Martin, but the situation. He didn’t understand, did he? His body wasn’t responding the way it should-Should Douglas tell him that it’s normal, that it happens in these terrible cases-

But before Douglas could force himself to do anything, Martin made another noise before flopping back forcefully against the bed with what power (and control) he had. He shut his eyes tightly, as a tear rolled down both of his cheeks.

***

“Mr. Creiff. How are you feeling?” Dr. Knolles touched Martin’s wrist gently with a smile as Douglas shifted in the chair beside the bed. Test after test had been done and finally they seemed to be done measuring whatever ability Martin seemed to have at the moment. Which is just as well, because Martin was growing increasingly frustrated by the end of it.

_“Mr. Crieff, follow these lights please…okay, can you wiggle your right toe? Left? Squeeze this hand. Try again. Blink if you understand what I’m saying. Say ‘She sold seashells by the seashore.’ What’s your name? That’s alright. How about-“_

Douglas shook his head and sighed heavily, making Martin look at him. He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

Dr. Knolles only nodded and tried to get Martin’s attention again. “Mr. Crieff, I don’t know what you remember from before, but the reason you’re feeling this way is because you experienced a subarachnoid hemorrhage. You have two cerebral aneurysms and one of them ruptured. Do you remember anything about your aneurysms?” He waited patiently while Martin looked deep in thought for a moment before blinking. He glanced at Douglas.

“You’ve just come out of surgery-we were able to place a surgical clip around the neck of both aneurysms, which stopped the bleeding of the ruptured one into your brain.” He paused and Martin looked up at him. “Unfortunately, while you were in surgery, it looks like you suffered hemorrhagic stroke. The ruptured aneurysm seems to have damaged your brain directly. That’s why you’re having trouble moving, speaking, and understanding things. Can you blink once if this is making any sense?”

Douglas watched as Martin waited a moment before slowly blinking once, and the doctor continued on. “Good. That’s good, Mr. Crieff. It will take time to fully realize the extent of the damage but there is a lot of hope here.” Douglas stifled a scoff at that. “You’ll be moved to a room upstairs while you start to recover and we form a treatment plan for you. Your friend Mr…Richardson? He’s agreed to stay for a few days while we work some things out. Will that be okay with you?”

Martin’s eyes met Douglas’ and he blushed, nose twitching. He blinked once at him, a little quicker than before, and the doctor nodded. “Good. Now for right now, I want you to focus on resting. You don’t need to speak, or move unless you absolutely need or want to. You probably won’t be able to right away. This is your best time to let your body recuperate from the last few days, and then we can talk about what seems to be improving and what we can work on.”

Martin swallowed and Douglas noticed his finger twitch. Douglas cleared his throat. “Thank you, Dr. Knolles.”

Dr. Knolles nodded. “He should be able to be moved within a few hours. Dr. Ryburn will be the neurologist on duty in the morning, and she’ll do her rounds sometimes after…ten, I think. She was the doctor that you spoke to earlier, yes? The nurses will keep track of things, but if you’d like you can keep notes of anything you have questions or concerns about-“

“What can he do, then? Martin, I mean?” Douglas tapped his knee. “I only mean, is there anything he should be doing, or should I be trying to-“

“No, right now he should only be resting. His IV will provide his nutrients and he has a catheter so he won’t need to move at all for the time being. It will be hard for him to communicate but we can work through that. He’ll have a television in the room. Of course, family and friends can be notified if he wants-“

Martin grunted then, his head moving slightly. Douglas shifted. “I think we’ll wait a bit on that, I’m afraid.”

“Right.” Dr. Knolles nodded. “That’s perfectly alright. Mr. Crieff, you just focus on resting, alright? If you feel any pain we can get you medication. And if you remember anything or feel the urge to move you can, but don’t force yourself to. This is a crucial part in your recovery.”

Martin sighed quietly, eyes shifting away from the doctor who took this as a cue to stop. “Well…you can hit the nurse’s button if you need anything. And their station is just down the hall.” He nodded to Douglas.

Douglas stood and shook his hand. “Thank you, doctor.”

Once Dr. Knolles was gone Douglas cleared his throat, shifting. He pulled his chair a bit closer to the bed, watching Martin who was staring at the ceiling. There were a few moments of awkward silence before he forced himself to break into it.

“Perhaps one blink can be a “yes” in case-“

But he was cut off when Martin looked at him, gaze narrowed slightly. Not angry, per se, but not content either. As if anyone in his situation would be. Douglas swallowed and seat back in the chair, nodding once.

“Right, sorry.” He licked his lips and it grew quiet again. Martin only stared at him, face inscrutable.

Douglas sat up after a few more minutes and cleared his throat.  “Martin, I’m sorry. That wasn’t the first thing I was going to say, believe it or not. There’s something else.”

Martin watched him, but whether or not he was actually waiting for Douglas to speak or even cared, Douglas didn’t know.

“Is it okay if I…well, can you understand what I’m saying now?” Douglas bit his lip and Martin sighed again. He blinked once.

“Ah…good, good. Er.” Douglas nodded and flexed his fingers before reaching up toward Martin’s hand on the bed-Martin’s finger twitched again-Douglas silently hoped it wasn’t because Martin was trying to pull away-but of course, his hand stayed where it was. Douglas’ hand settled overtop it, and he squeezed it gently.

“I…” Douglas swallowed and looked up from their hands to Martin’s face. “Martin, I’m…I’m very glad you’re alright. That you’re not…”

But from looking at Martin’s expression, Douglas couldn’t finish the sentence. Because knowing Martin, what even was this to him? He couldn’t even _move_ , for Christ’s sake.

“I’m just glad you’re here, Martin.” Douglas nodded and cleared his throat, patting Martin’s hand. “And that’s all I’ll say, because I’d rather not piss you off at the moment. It would be terribly rude of me.” He tried a small smile, pulling his hand back into his own lap.

Martin of course, didn’t respond, but he looked to where Douglas’ hand was. And perhaps Douglas was trying to make himself feel better, but he could have sworn that Martin’s eyes softened, even if it was just a little bit.

“Now, you should try to get some sleep. I will as well, if you do.” Douglas slid the bed remote so that the nurse’s button was directly under Martin’s finger. “If you need help and I’m not awake, do you think you can try to press this button?”  He made sure to speak at a decent rate, just a bit slower than normal while watching for any confusion in Martin’s expression.

Martin’s eyes crinkled as he looked at his hand, then he looked back up at Douglas and blinked once, slowly.

Douglas shifted. “And…one blink is yes? Is that alright? You can either…er, not blink or blink a lot for no, I suppose.” He sighed.

But Martin blinked once again, his finger twitching over then nurse’s button as if he was showing Douglas he could handle it. Douglas almost laughed at that. Of course Martin would try to prove it.

“Alright, then that’s settled.” Douglas nodded and settled back in the chair. “Will you try to get some sleep now? Are you tired at all?”

A moment of nothing, and then a blink. “Good. When you’re settled in a nice room we’ll watch a match or something. How does that sound?” Another blink.

Douglas watched as Martin closed his eyes. It wasn’t long before his breaths deepened and his pulse monitor slowed a bit. Douglas settled back more in the uncomfortable chair before angling his head against his shoulder and closing his eyes. Soon enough, he was out too.

 

***

This time, Gerti wouldn’t start at all. Martin pressed the button over and over, pushing the lever, but nothing would happen.

 

He never cared much for figuring out what his dreams meant, but this one was pretty clear.


	23. Can't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Douglas tries his best to encourage.

He couldn’t put it off any longer.

Douglas took a deep breath and dialed the number slowly, hesitating to press send momentarily. What a conversation this will be, he thought to himself. Really, where are you even supposed to start? As the dial tone rang through his hears he tried sorting that answer out for himself, failing by the time the shrill voice of MJN’s only stewardess and CEO took over on the speaker.

“ _Douglas!_ “

Douglas blinked, pulling the phone away from his ear.

“Where in the _hell_ have you been? You couldn’t be bothered to call? God knows what Martin’s doing- now I’ve got him MIA, while you’re apparently having an unannounced, undeserved vacation-“

He sighed, speaking into the mic. “Carolyn-“

“Let me finish!” Carolyn snapped at him. “You might have bothered coming to your actual job, you know, despite the fact that we didn’t have a flight. Not that it would have mattered if anything came up, both of your phones seem to be broken, since both times I’ve called there’s nothing but a message-“

Douglas groaned, running his free hand over her face. He let Carolyn ramble for another minute, checking his watch as someone brushed past him in the hall and into the cafeteria. He really shouldn’t be taking too long down here. They’ll be moving Martin very soon, and Douglas hasn’t eaten since…

Well, he wasn’t even sure when that was. It wasn’t exactly a priority, and Douglas’ stomach was flipping every so often now that be barely felt the need to eat either way.

While thinking to himself, he hadn’t realized the other end of the line went quiet. Douglas pulled the phone away again, checking to make sure the call wasn’t lost, before pressing it back to his ear. He decided to be short and informative, before Carolyn started could start ranting again. “I’m at hospital.”

“What in god’s name are you at the hospital for?” Carolyn sighed. “Douglas, please tell me it’s nothing more than a sprain or something. Perhaps you could be more careful and not put my air dot at risk-“

“ _Carolyn, I am at the hospital and so is **Martin**.” _ Douglas all but growled the words out in his anger. Wasn’t Carolyn paying attention at all these last few months? Wouldn’t she just assume this was because Martin was here for some reason? “By all means though, keep rambling on about important things like your scheduled sarcastic jabs, I know we’ve been missing out on them. Poor Arthur, having to pick up the pieces after we’ve gone. Martin will feel just terrible about all this.”

Well, perhaps that was a bit much. Douglas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I…Apologies, Carolyn, it’s just been very-“

He didn’t even have a word for it. Very…what? Sad? Traumatic? Worrying? Exhausting?

But Carolyn was still quiet for another minute, before clearing her throat. “Tell me what happened.” Her voice was still sharp, but softened a bit in the worry.

Douglas shifted, checking his watch again. “I don’t have very long-“

“Then perhaps you should be telling me faster?”

“For goodness’ sake, alright!” Douglas groaned again, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I…well truth be told, I don’t know how much he wants you to know.”

Carolyn sighed. “He doesn’t know you’ve called? You could have asked him-“

“He wouldn’t have been able to answer me either way.” Douglas muttered. “He’s not exactly…well.”

“Well _what?_ Douglas, please.” Her tone softened even more, and the worry actually laced through this time.

Douglas nodded. “Right. Well, he…his condition, whatever it is, has taken a turn for the worse. What was before only a…risk, now has actually happened.” He swallowed. “He…he can’t leave hospital.”

Carolyn was quiet for a long time, and Douglas didn’t know what to say without giving anything else away.

“He’s alive.”

“Yes.” Thank God, Douglas thought. “Yes, alive, and only just awake. He doesn’t want me to call his family, though.”

“Stable, though?”

“For the time being, yes. As stable as he could be.” Douglas caught eyes with a nurse passing by, and she gave him a pitying smile.

“And…how long will he be in hospital?”

Douglas sighed heavily before answering. “I think you will need…to call Herc. And…someone else, as well. I’m not talking about a week or two here, Carolyn.”

There was a whoosh in the earpiece as Carolyn sighed. “Douglas, I do need you at some point-“

“Actually, I believe I’ll be taking a leave as well. A…very long one, in fact.” Douglas’ own words surprised him, but he didn’t redact them. “No need to worry about vacation pay, as I know MJN would have a difficult time with all that. But perhaps you could find two sad, pilots with no social lives or pride to fly for you free of charge. I understand how otherwise-“

“Stop being a smart arse and use your head. You can’t just leave your job, Douglas!” Carolyn’s voice climbed higher with her irritation. “I’m worried about Martin too, God knows Arthur’s going to lose his head, but we can’t sit by him every minute.

But someone’s got to, Douglas reminded himself silently as he checked the time. “You don’t understand, Carlolyn. He won’t…it will be…” He paused, thinking for a minute.

Martin’s never been one to ask for help, he knew that. And as the last 24 hours has revealed, Martin was never going to budge on that. Even on his _very_ worst day, which Douglas could probably safely say this was it-

Even if Martin wanted help, he wouldn’t have asked for it. Douglas had to announce himself in the role of support- whether Martin liked it or not.

Yes, this was right. This was what needed to happen. That was now clear. “I’m not leaving him.” He spoke firmly.

There were another few moments of silence on both ends, and Carolyn let out a long-suffering sigh. “Arthur will be wanted to see you. Well, Martin of course-“

“I’ll have to be the one to decide when that happens, unfortunately.” Well that wasn’t true, of course Martin will be able to decide that. “Rather, I can let you know at least. When that’s okay with Martin.”

“Fine. I’ll stall Arthur for a while, as best I can. Provided you can at least stop by for a visit or dare I say it, even a flight.” Carolyn huffed. “Do tell Martin I said…well.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sure you can tell him something.”

“Of course.” Douglas nodded and checked his watch again. “I really should be getting back to him- He’s being moved soon.” Before Carolyn could ask any more questions he made his goodbye with a quick ‘thanks’ and hung up, before making a quick purchase at the closesr food line. Hopefully Martin would still be sleeping and Douglas could eat the sandwich quickly.

***

And sleep Martin did. He slept through until the next evening, save for the small episode when he woke up as the nurses were moving his bed to his assigned room. He was breathing hard, trying to move when he realized what was happening (of course, it wasn’t _fully_ realizing-he just felt wrong somehow, not in a place he belonged, and the man he still couldn’t remember the name of wasn’t in sight for any sort of reassurance or comfort) and ultimately he knocked his elbow into one of the nurse’s sides. She grunted and spoke slowly, gently resting Martin’s arm back on the bed. “Well that is a bit of a good sign-your limbs are responding to you, hmm?”

But Martin had no idea what she meant. He heard a ding and large silver doors closed at the foot of his bed. There was a strange sensation of movement in the room, and he couldn’t breathe suddenly. He tried and tried, and looked between the three nurses to give them some sort of signal of distress-he was panicking, and in _pain_ , couldn’t they see that? But the nurses were more focused on idle chat, something about a new show on the telly, and a celebrity making an appearance on it. Martin whimpered, but no noise came out. Where _was_ that man?

Richardson, that was it. Obviously a only last name, but that didn’t take away from the fact that Martin needed to see him anyway. They knew each other, he was sure of it. A woman introduced them, didn’t she? With white hair, a scarf, and-

Suddenly, he opened his eyes again to see a new, brighter room in which he was apparently now staying. He must have had his eyes closed for some time, Martin realized. He turned his head to see the window-the sun was peeking through the blinds, but there were clouds coming. It was that kind of day where you knew it was bleak already, but you were holding onto the hope that it might stay bright for a bit longer.

Somehow, Martin connected to the feeling.

A heavy hand rested on his own and he turned his head around to the other side-and breathed a sigh of relief.

The man was there, looking a little harried, as if he had rushed to get to the room.

“I’m Sorry, Martin. I was downstairs having some dinner when they informed me you were being moved.” He smiled a bit then, almost smugly. But it didn’t seem snarky at all. “Of course, I knew you’d be terribly worried if you didn’t see me.” He chuckled and sat down, laying his coat over his knees.

Martin didn’t respond , but he tried to smile back at him. Whether he actually did or not is beyond him, but the man was still in happy spirits, so there must have been some sort of response that he liked. Martin shifted, feeling the sheets slide against his legs below the hem of the hospital gown he was wearing.

“How are you feeling?” The man sat up, watching Martin. “The nurse says you gave her a nasty bruise on the way up here. I had no idea that you were such a difficult patient.” He chuckled, making Martin smile-or-not-smile again. “Perhaps we ought to strap you down, once you recover fully. Can’t have an angry pilot causing disturbances, can we?”

 _Pilot._ Martin blinked. That’s right…he was a pilot…on an actual plane. That’s where he met this man, in the office at the airfield. He…could fly.

A pilot!

“F-Fitton.” Martin struggled with the word, stammering it out with a harsh breath. He nearly felt exhausted when it came out, but there was a sense of relief when he did. The man in the chair blinked in surprise.

“That’s right, Fitton. Although, we’re a bit far from there today, sadly. I’ve called over to the airfield and everything’s taken care of for us.” He nodded and patted Martin’s hand twice.

Martin frowned. Did this man tell everyone what happened? He couldn’t bear to have visitors now, not when he’s entirely hopeless. Honestly, he’d have just been better off-

“Of course, I refrained from divulging all the details of why we aren’t able to come into work. Carolyn was snippy of course, asking where we were and what was happening, but I just told her we would be a while here.” The man’s eyes flitted downward to their hands, clearing his throat.

Carolyn. The white-haired woman. Martin saw the letters of her name slide across her face, and he tried to commit it to memory. He took a deep breath and looked at the man, willing him to go on. 

The man sighed. “She of course pressed on, but I didn’t want to get into it with her. I understand that anyone would want more time, in your position. Wouldn’t you agree?” He looked at Martin, hand still over his.

Martin recalled the conversation that occurred before he fell asleep, and blinked once. The man smiled. “Good. That’s settled, then. We can focus on your recovery.”

Martin huffed. Funny, this man saying ‘we’, when he didn’t have to do any of the actual work. Martin was what, just supposed to lay here? Like a dummy, barely able to move or even bloody speak-

“Now, don’t give me that look. I don’t need your attitude after everything that’s happened. I’m here because I want to help, Martin, believe it or not.” The man looked at him evenly. “I’m not going to talk to you like a child, because I know you can understand me, yes? The nurses should give you more credit. You’re the youngest pilot I know, of course you can coherently understand sentences.”

Martin shifted and blinked once, cheeks flushing. The man nodded. “Good. I know it will be a long time before anything starts feeling normal again, but that’s alright. I don’t want you getting worked up about it right now, okay? We can just enjoy the company, if nothing else at the moment. And a match, perhaps. How does that sound?” He leaned over, grabbing the remote with his free hand and turning the small telly on connected to the wall. “And when you’re up to it, you can start bickering with me again. But not before.”

Martin felt himself blinking once, and then again, a little heavier. Suddenly the room was getting darker and he felt so _tired_ again. How long had he even been awake, a half hour? This was ridiculous. He was a grown man, and he slept for so long. Is this all his life was now, sleeping and blinking? How was he supposed to…

The question didn’t finish in his head, as his eyelids drooped closed and he fell asleep once more. The last thing he head was the man muttering about the remote.

***

Every day was a little different, but mostly repetitive. Martin woke up, listened to Richardson speak for a while, and slept again. Watched telly. Looked out the window. Nurses fussed over him, checking numbers and writing his vitals on the whiteboard by the door. They emptied his catheter (in front of Richardson, much to Martin’s chagrin), and asked if he was in pain. He blinked for all the questions, the necessary amounts for yes and no, and occasionally made a few sounds at them. They smiled encouragingly.

After a while they asked more and more questions, waiting for actual noises instead of blinking. Richardson encouraged Martin too- the whole thing felt like Martin was a child again, learning everything a second time over. It was frustrating, but only the beginning of it all.

***

Speech therapy was important, along with physical.  Personally, Martin couldn’t tell which was worse, though. He knew the words now, in his head. He could see them, hear them. There were full sentences forming on his lips, ones he just couldn’t say.

“M-Martin Cruh….Cruh-eef.” Martin struggled with the name (his own name!), exhaling loudly when it final came out in its entirety. It felt better to have it all ou. Especially after taking nearly five minutes to speak it.

“Good, Mr. Crieff. That’s really good. You’re doing very well, you know. Do you remember your friend’s name?” The speech therapist smiled, gesturing to Douglas with one hand. Douglas smiled reassuringly.

“I’m sure _Captain_ Crieff remembers more than just my name, hmm?” Douglas winked at Martin. When the speech therapist gave him a look he cleared his throat. “Er, well. I just meant…nevermind.”

Martin shifted, flexing his fingers while he thought about it. The sad thing was, he couldn’t remember the man’s full name. Richardson was his surname, sure, and Martin could remember that now-and he knew they met in Fitton. And he flew a plane with Martin, right? Yes…

Martin sighed. After a few days, you would think he could remember more. Say more. _Do_ more…do anything, in fact!

He realized an angry grunt came from behind his own lips, and his cheeks felt hot when Douglas and the speech therapist both looked at him worriedly. The speech therapist smiled. “It’s alright, Mr. Crieff. It’s only been a few days. Judging by the articulation in the words and names we’ve went over, I can tell you’re a long way ahead where we thought we’d be.” She makes a few notes.

Again with the _we._ Richardson had said it too, that first day. Yet Martin was the one struggling with words, trying to remember who he was or why he was even…nearly paralyzed in this hospital bed. It’s not as if _they_ had a hard time remember how to say their own name. Martin suddenly longed for the days that his stutter-even the worst occasions, before he could overcome it somehow, and the words never even came out- was the most embarrassing thing that he had to deal with. It had been years since then, but he felt like a child again.

And that was without the fact that he had to be spoon fed in a hospital gown.

Before he knew it, he realized it was just him and Richardson alone in the room now. Martin had let his mind wander again, and he didn’t even hear what Richardson was just finishing up saying. He looked over with his eyes, trying to convey some sort of confusion on his face to tell the other man he didn’t hear him.

“Ah, sorry, Martin. I was just rambling a bit. No worries about answering me.” The older man nodded and grabbed his newspaper, flipping it back over to the article he was focused on before Martin’s speech hour. The low hum of the telly filled the room for a while.

“C-Can’t.” Martin heard himself say, astonishingly.

Richardson’s head popped up and he frowned. “Wh…what was that, Martin?” He looked confused.

Martin sighed and repeated himself, a bit more whine coming into the word than before. “C-C…C-Can’t!” He grunts and gestures to himself with his hand with what energy he has. It takes a moment, and the movement feels dragging, but he’s almost happy he did it as quickly as he did either way. It was an expression of something , finally, one he could do. “S-Stupid.”

Almost.

“C-Can’t…names, or…m-moving, food!” He whines again, dropping his hand tiredly.

Richardson swallowed, looking guilty as he set his paper down and leaned forward. He touched Martin’s hand gently. “Martin…it’s only been three days. Do you know how remarkable it is that you can do this much? A bloody aneurysm ruptured in here!” He lightly pressed the tip of his index finger to Martin’s freckled forehead, and Martin crossed his eyes, watching Douglas’ fingers.

“You’ve been to Hell and back, I’d say. But you’re awake, and speaking…look, you even changed the channels on your own…”

He trailed off as Martin turned his head to watch him, eyes wide and bright. Douglas sighed, taking the image in. Martin seemed so young, suddenly. Even the gap in their age was a daily joke between them, before. But now…Martin looked so scared, so…uncertain.

That alone worried Douglas. When was Martin ever unsure about himself? Never on the plane. Never at the airfield. Never, with Douglas or Arthur or Carolyn-

But maybe that was the whole façade. Perhaps, Douglas realized, this was the real Martin. Underneath the red-cheeked arrogance, the arguing; Beneath Martin’s constant reminding of his own authority, maybe Martin really wasn’t sure.

It explained a hell of a lot. Douglass supposed this shouldn’t be surprising-it’s something he probably knew all along. Martin was never the sort to _ask_ for help, so why would he now, even with an illness? He was stubborn through and through, but doesn’t mean he didn’t want help, or encouragement. It doesn’t mean Martin didn’t need it.

It was only more reason for Douglas to step up now. Because even if Martin doesn’t want help, he does need it. The fact that he’s letting his guard down now only proves it.

But how could Douglas be sure enough for the both of them?

“I’m sorry.” Douglas sat up and cleared his throat. “I’m sure that sounds pretty pathetic, doesn’t it? To the youngest airline captain I know, it does, I bet.”

Martin exhaled and looked to the side. He was grateful for the acknowledgement, at least.

He gripped Martin’s hand.  “But listen to me, Martin.”

Martin shifted, glancing at their hands.

“The Man with a Van I know, who took seven tries to get his CPL, who moves boxes and pianos so he can fly the skies for free…he’s showing a bit of promise here in this blasted hospital room. I know from the look on your face when you try to speak that you don’t want to give up. And even if you do some days, that’s fine.” He nodded. “God knows you deserve a break above anyone else I know.”

He sighed. “I’m not going to say you’re the same person exactly as you were before all this. That’d be rude, wouldn’t it? But you’re in there somewhere. And you’ll find the rest of yourself, whoever that is, when you need to.”

Martin blinked a few times, eyes still wet and cheeks tinged pink. He shifted under Douglas’ smile.

“And me, I’ll be right here through it all. Can’t exactly get rid of me that easily, Captain Crieff. You should know that by now.” He pats Martin’s hand and goes back to his paper, speaking lightly again as if they’d been only talking about the weather. “I believe there’s a match on today. Why don’t you flip the channels and find it? We can make a bet on it.”

Martin cleared his throat and struggled with the remote a bit, adjusting his bed and then pressing a few more buttons until the right channel was found. Richardson was right. Martin did want to give up, really. It was a familiar feeling, from before-images of Anita ran through his mind and he shook his head. But if everything else Richardson said was true? The youngest pilot he knows? Seven goes at a CPL, moving pianos…it all seems devastatingly exhausting now, but if he could do it before…

Well, three days or not, Martin can’t even remember Richardson’s first name.

It _was_ a bit pathetic.

Martin sighed to himself, grateful that Richardson was now looking at the telly and didn’t notice him.

***

“Martin, it’s only been a few weeks.” Douglas sighed. “You have to be reasonable.”

“Wh…Why?” Martin panted as he picked his leg up and moved forward a shuffle. His knuckles were nearly white from gripping the railing so hard, and his nurse cooed cheerfully.

“Good! You’re getting a bit faster every day, Martin.”

Martin mentally groaned, then let an actual groan out. “I’ve b-been at this an hour, and I’ve…only t-taken ten…b-bloody steps!”

The nurse didn’t seem fazed. “I’ll get you some water, love. Keep going, okay?” She scuttled off.

Martin sighed and shot a look at Douglas to continue their conversation. “Why do I have t-to be…the _reasonable_ one? I’m hardly a…p-poster child for st…st…” He took a deep breath. “Stoic. I’m _allowed_ to c-complain about still being here-“

“Martin, don’t get upset. Of course you can complain. I’m not saying you can’t.” Douglas stood up and gave Martin his arm to guide him to the chairs. “Have a sit for a moment.”

Martin grunted and dropped down into the char heavily, his upper body sagging forward as he panted. “Th-This is ridiculous. How ‘m I s’posed to…to…” He grunted again and waved a hand. “Never…nevermind.”

Douglas shifted beside him, running a hand towel over the back of Martin’s neck. “Martin, you’re expecting too much of yourself at this point. Sure, you have to push yourself to walk and talk…to eat, or remember names, but you don’t need to be performing miracles or anything. You really can’t expect to be going home after two weeks, do you? To live on your own in that attic?”

Martin didn’t respond to that.

“You can’t have your cake and complain about it too, Martin.” Douglas nudged him, a smirk in his voice. “You’re complaining that you can’t feed yourself properly yet but you want to go back to living life normally already.”

“Only sp-spilled once today.” Martin grumbled to his knees, a smile playing at his lips.

“That’s very true. I apologize wholeheartedly.” Douglas smiled more. “Martin, this is your life now. You have to focus on getting better-not perfect. There is a vast difference. One that, while you couldn’t allow before all this happened, you have to acknowledge now.”

Martin sighed. “Not f-for…for me. N-No difference.”

Douglas didn’t respond to that, only patting Martin’s knee in response, then helping him up again. “Let’s get a few more steps in before that darling nurse comes back. She’s a looker, isn’t she?” Martin grunted as he straightened, feeling a bead of sweat travel down his forehead.

“Oh, and its _stoicism_ , Martin. Can’t have you spouting off words like that used incorrectly. That’d be terribly irresponsible of me, as your caretaker.”

Martin rolled his eyes but smirked, rotating his leg a bit before stepping forward.

***

“I dare say, Martin…if you are getting tired of me, feel free to send me away for a day. I know you’re better at communicating now, so I’m almost surprised you haven’t kicked me out yet.” Douglas pulled the sheet over Martin’s legs as he settled into the bed.

“N-No…no, I…” Martin shrugged, fidgeting with a thread on the sheet. “I-I mean, I’m sure you have…b-better things to be getting on with…?” He trailed off, not meeting Douglas’ gaze.

“No, that’s not what I was saying. You’re so pessimistic, Captain.” Douglas rolled his eyes, making Martin smile a bit. He shifted.

“I-I don’t m…mind.” Martin shook his head. “I…we,, I should be, er…th-thank you-“

Douglas interrupted. “Martin, I didn’t mean that either!”

“N-No, no! I know, b-but…” Martin shifted, taking a deep breath as he sorted through his words. Douglas waited patiently. “It’s…n-nice. Help…ful. You…being here.” He nodded, swallowing. “Thank…you.”

Douglas cleared his throat, nodding once. “Let’s watch one of those crappy dramas today. I do like watching the unfolding of some rich family’s problems every now and again.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried very hard to keep Douglas in character, so I hope he's mostly IC. Perhaps Martin's softened his heart a bit.


End file.
